


A heart like mine

by paperheart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, fluff and nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperheart/pseuds/paperheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after Gendry saw her last, Arya rides back into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, this is my first fanfic.

Gendry couldn't sleep.

Most days he would hammer away in the forge until he could barely lift his arms, even then sleep would not come easily. Tonight there was no hope. His mind was a chaotic mess, playing over and over again what had happened this afternoon. He closed his eyes and watched it all unfold once more. His heart beat so hard in his chest, like a hammer upon steel, it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if it suddenly burst from his chest and landed in his lap. _S_ _he's alive._

Arya had paid to have a room to herself at the inn. Gendry wondered where she got the money, as he left the warmth of his cot in the forge. He tried to convince himself that he needed to see she was safe. Not only did she obviously have money, something the remaining members of the Brotherhood would have noted, but she was just as clearly no longer the boyish child she was when they'd last seen her. She was a woman grown.

The grass was cold and wet underfoot, _why hadn't I thought to put my boots on?_ He made his way pass the stable, briefly noting the horse Arya had rode in on was also awake, _what was it's name again?_ He would ask her. He thought perhaps the horse was awake thinking of it's owner, like he was. He shook his head, he wasn't _thinking_ of her, just checking that none of the men at the inn had been stupid enough to attempt stealing into her room. He hastened his pace at the thought, his jaw clenched painfully as he imagined beating to a pulp any man who would lay a hand on his friend. _His friend._ Were they still friends? It had been five years, would she still blame him for wanting to join the Brotherhood? For wanting to make something of himself? He supposed she might, he still blamed himself for not finding her when she ran. _T_ _he Hound did._ He'd worry about that later, there were already too many questions tormenting his mind right now.

The front door to the inn wasn't locked, about a dozen men slept on the common room floor of a night, and would make frequent trips to the trees outside for a piss after all they'd drunk at supper. He silently thanked the last one for forgetting to lock the door on his return. Gendry crept around an assortment of cloaks, blankets and limbs, careful not to wake anyone on his way to the stairs. Gods help him if he were caught sneaking up to Arya's room, he'd never live it down. The stairs were sturdy, and thankfully didn't creak or groan under his considerable weight. Now one and twenty, Gendry stood head and shoulders above most men.

Arya's room was the second door on the left. His eyes followed her at supper from his place at the hearth when she retired for the night. Now that he was at her door he realised he hadn't planned what to do next. There were no noises coming from inside, no scuffle. Deep down he knew that even if anyone had been stupid enough to sneak up on her, she'd be more than capable of protecting herself. Apart from noticing how her dark brown hair fell in waves down her back now, and that her storm grey eyes were no longer set in the drawn face she had as a child, but in the sharp, graceful face of a woman. He'd also noticed the lean strength in the line of her arms, marked here and there with old scars, _she's fought hard to stay alive all these years._ It made him feel both proud and terribly sad. 

She was taller, but not so tall as he. The top of her head reached his chest when he caught sight of her this afternoon, and drew her in for what must have been a rib crushing embrace. He smiled to himself, at the memory. Gendry felt the weight lift from his shoulders. His head was no longer a jumble, all that remained was the sight of Arya rounding the corner of the forge on her horse. He slid down to sit on the floor in her doorway, legs stretched out across the hall, leaning his head on the door frame. He felt at ease, sleepy even. He'd been hammering away at a breastplate, sweat beading on his face, arms and bare chest, when he glimpsed the horse and rider outside the doorway. She looked so different, and at the same time so much the same. Gendry knew at once it was Arya. He had imagined her over the years, picturing what she would look like had she grown up, always shutting down the thought, heartbroken and ashamed at being unable to save her. Until that very moment, he had long thought her dead and thinking otherwise hurt just as much. But, as she came off that horse and looked straight into him, he knew he wasn't imagining her. Laying his hammer down upon the anvil, Gendry walked around the workbench toward her. She didn't move to meet him halfway, she didn't stop him as he wrapped his sweaty arms around her either. _Gods, I probably stank._ "Arya." He breathed, tucking her head into his hand and under his chin. She was flesh and blood. She was real. She was alive.

He drew in a contented breath, remembering the smell of grass and pine leaves in her hair, and her warmth as he held her in his arms. Somewhere in the dark with Arya safe in the room behind him, Gendry fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has to be No-one, one last time. Now that she has found Gendry, can she leave him to give the God of death one last name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic, just playing around with some Gendrya.  
> No beta.
> 
> I'm a reader, not a writer!

Arya awoke cocooned in warmth, then a familiar terror washed over her. _W_ _here am I?_

A featherbed she observed, how long had it been since she last slept in a featherbed - Braavos, from there it had been the cramped confines of a ships cot, and the hard, cold ground of the forest floor when she finally surrendered to exhaustion from the days travelling. Arya clutched the dagger hidden beneath her pillow, she might not know where she was but she always knew where her weapons were. It was a small, bare room, she glanced around and stretched her back like a cat. She'd been a cat for a while. She'd been many things and many people, all the while she was no one. Could she ever truly just be Arya again? 

Treading carefully on the floorboards, praying they wouldn't squeak, she made her way to the one small window. The muted dark grey of pre-dawn peaked through the shutters, as she recalled where she was - the Inn at the Crossroads. _Gendry._ Gendry was here too. Arya closed her eyes at the memory of seeing his familiar form at the forge when she arrived yesterday. She could recall everything as though he stood before her right now, in this room.

_The violent clang of hammer on steal as she rounded the corner. His damp black hair hanging slightly over his eyes as he focused all his attention on the piece he was working on. Her breath caught in her throat, she knew him instantly. She knew the swing, the rise and fall of his muscled arm. The ripple and movement of sweat glistened skin upon muscle that was his broad chest and shoulders. She had appreciated his strength and size when they were children. Now, the sight of him slick with sweat, pounding away unrelentingly at his work, inspired an entirely new appreciation._

_Suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath, Arya exhaled with the oddest noise. Spooked by the sound, the horse she'd dubbed Syrio thrashed his head in alarm and whinnied. Gendry looked up. Brilliant blue eyes filled with surprise, disbelief and something she could not discern, locked onto hers. They search her face, then take complete stock of her from head to toe._

_Swinging off the horse, Arya knows she is an unusual sight, clad in men's breaches, shirt, jerkin and cloak, but it's not the clothing that shocks the man standing before her. He moved toward her slowly, eyes not daring to blink as though he thought she would disappear. As he stood before her, Arya's throat tightened painfully, she swallowed in an effort to ease it. His body suddenly engulfed hers, holding her in a desperate embrace, a hand cupped behind her head. With her face to his chest, she felt his head rest upon hers._

_"Ayra."_

Opening her eyes, Arya found herself back in the room, the sky outside gently tinted with an amber glow as she smiles to herself unable to recall who let go first. _If only things were different._

She dressed quickly in all except her boots, which she would carry until safely outside. Arya didn't want to wake anybody. She hadn't expected to meet anyone who knew her, but here they were; Lem, Anguy, Tom O'Sevens and Gendry. With a hand to her belt, and the other grasping the hilt on Needle, she paused, _he could come with me._ Turning the idea over in her head for a brief moment, as she slid Needle into place. _No._ She chastises herself for even giving it a moment's thought. _The assignment._ It was all that mattered. It would be her last, whether by her choice or the fact that she would likely be killed in the process. Either way, at the end she would be through with being no one.

Arya turned the door handle and yanked the door back fast, hoping to stop the hinges from creaking.

"OOF!" Something solid dropped smack bang on top of her bare foot.

"Bloody! Buggering hells! Oh, shit - my foot!" Arya exploded, clutching her foot in both hands, while hopping on the other.

"Fuck! My head. What-" Gendry began, trying to get up off the floor holding his head.

"Gendry? What-" Arya too, was cut off. There were loud footsteps rushing up the stairs. A few people by the sound of it.

"Oh, it's like that is it?" smirked Tom, elbowing Anguy. "You know, I always thought-"

"Shut it Tom." Gendry demanded with a shove to Tom's chest for emphasis.

Shoving her way through the men, Ayra made her way down the stairs gingerly. Gendry followed behind rubbing his head, she turned to throw a threatening look at him and found his hair sticking up every which way. Arya fumed, she was used to men's crude jests and had heard much worse in some of the establishments on Braavos. Even walking the streets in broad daylight, she would be harassed or propositioned. The fact that it bothered her this time, angered her far more than what was actually implied.

There would be no leaving undetected now, they'd successfully woken everybody. The occupants of the inn thoroughly enjoyed gossiping and laughing at the mornings events, as they broke their fast. Arya supposed walking the way she was didn't help matters. She looked up at Gendry seated across from her, stabbing at his porridge with a spoon. He was red-faced, trying to ignore the talk around them, his black hair still looking like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge.

"What were you doing leaning against my door in the first place?" she asked finally, unable to stand the silence a second longer.

"I fell asleep." he replied, incredulously.

"You sleepwalk now?"

"No. I - I wanted to check on you. I mean-" he stumbled on his words trying to explain. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Arya raised an eyebrow.

"I guess I fell asleep." Gendry added with a shrug.

***

They eat in silence for a time, then Gendry lifts his gaze to the apparition in front of him. She's eating, but he knows she isn't even tasting it. She is in a completely different place in her mind right now. _What happened to you._ A jagged scar reaching from her wrist to her elbow catches his eye, he has so many questions but settles on what he hopes will be a safe one.

"So, um what's your horse's name?"

She almost smiles when she answers "Syrio." she has a look on her face as though she is remembering something fondly.

The next question is burning on his lips, he has no idea how she will respond but it's an answer he's needed for five long years. Leaning in he asks softly

"What happened to you?" There is noise and movement all around them, laughter and conversation, bowls and cups clanking on tables as some people eat, others are readying themselves for the day. Arya and Gendry are silent and still, the air around them thick with words unsaid.

Gesturing to the others in the room with her eyes and an inclination of her head, Arya merely says "Some other time, Gendry."

Gendry sits back. _I should have waited to ask her when we're alone._

"Perhaps when I return" she adds quietly so that nobody else can hear.

"Return!" Gendry calls out astonished "You only just got here!"

She glares at him, her steal grey eyes alight with fury.

"You bloody. Loud. Stupid - Bull!" Pushing away from the table, Arya grabs her satchel and storms out of the inn, the crowd makes way. Arya might be small but she is as volatile as wildfire. The men eye him as he makes to follow her. Running to catch up, Gendry stubs his big toe on a half submerged rock and curses himself again for forgetting his boots.

She's already at her horse, readying the saddle when he reaches her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Arya, please - " Gendry grabs her wrist to turn her to face him.

"I have to go, Gendry I know you want to know what happened these past five years, and where I'm going now but - " She begins, gesturing wildly, but not making eye contact.

"I'm going with you." He blurts out, causing Arya to laugh hysterically. He thinks it's the most wonderful sound he's ever heard, then reminds himself that she's laughing at him.

"You have NO idea where I am going."

Gendry looks at his surroundings, the inn and the forge. The place he's called home these past years. Then back at Arya, to the face from his childhood, changed but still the same. "You're right. I don't know where you're going." He looks at her determined " But I'll be damned if you're going there without me."

 

***

 _He's serious._ She thinks. His face is stern but those blue eyes are pleading. _Don't let him change your mind. He'll get in the way. He could ruin everything._ His hand loosens the grip on her wrist, dropping to clasp her hand gently. His palm to the back of her hand, his fingers curling into her palm.

Closing her eyes in defeat "You'll do as I say?" she asks, opening her eyes to see him grinning. He nods and opens his mouth to speak.

"Ask no questions." Arya reprimands. He gives her hand a quick squeeze then lets it go.

"No questions. Just let me go get my boots." He motions for her to stay right here, then bounds off.

Watching him run to the forge to retrieve what she hopes is more than just footwear, Arya's train of thought returns to her assignment. Has she jeopardised it already? A name escapes her lips, soft as a feathers touch. A name she was given, one owed to the God of death. A name paid for by someone with a mockingbird as a sigil.

_Sansa._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry joins Arya on her journey, but will she tell him where they are headed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, December was crazy busy. I have some time off now, so I'll try to update much quicker.  
> ...
> 
> I am using Renly's portrait of Margaery in his locket as a precedence. There aren't many mentions of portraits in ASOIAF, but that one was good enough for me.

"I see you still don't like wearing dresses."

It was Lem Lemoncloak, coming from the direction of the inn.

"I see you still haven't washed that dreadful cloak. Honestly Lem, you smell like days old piss." Arya replies light heartedly. He claps her on the back and laughs.

"You taking our young Gendry with you then?" he asks, jerking his head toward the forge where Gendry was in fact emerging from.

He was carrying a worn leather satchel and bed roll, a rather impressive sword at his side. Upon seeing Lem, he hesitates for a second before continuing his way over to them. Arya can see that he'd made an effort to tame his hair and put on a fresh shirt.

Lem whistles in mock admiration "Well, don't you look a maidens fantasy. All scrubbed pink and clean, with that fancy sword of yours."

Gendry huffs, annoyed at the observation.

"Never saw you go to that much effort for Long Jeyne. She'll be sore to hear you've gone." Lem says, smiling slyly like a cat cornering a mouse.

_Jeyne? A girl. A woman._ An unexpected and equally unwelcome feeling of jealousy courses through her. She scorns herself for feeling so. What does it matter to her anyway? Of course Gendry had a woman, perhaps many since she'd been away. Looking at him now she cannot understand why she just assumed he would have nobody to leave behind. "I'm going to need one of the horses." Gendry tells Lem gruffly, the agitation in his face as he looks down on the other man says it all. Not another word would be said about Jeyne.

 

The dark bay palfrey had cost Arya three silvers in the end. Handing them over, she felt Lem's eyes burn on the pouch at her belt. There is more sewn into the lining of her breaches and jerkin, but the small sum Lem knew about would have been tempting enough.

Both Gendry and Arya had been uneasy riding away from the inn, occasionally glancing back, expecting to be set upon and robbed, or worse. Neither spoke a word for a time, each consumed by their own thoughts. A howl sounded in the distance, bringing them out of their solitude.

"Did you hear that?" Arya shot bolt upright, looking all around. Her heart raced, when had she last heard a wolf's howl?

Gendry was less enthusiastic at the sound, the terror was evident in his now widened blue eyes.

"What's wrong? " Arya couldn't understand his reaction "That wolf isn't close by."

"You don't know do you? About the wolves?" He looked at her astonished. As they make their way through the edge of the woods, following the Kings Road, Gendry tells her of the wolf pack roaming the Riverlands.

"If the stories are true, their numbers are in the hundreds. Blood thirsty pack of beasts, hunting and killing men -"

"Have you seen them?" She should be afraid, but all Arya feels at the mention of wolves is nervous excitement.

He shook his head, "I've heard them, often enough. But no, I've never seen the pack. They say a monstrous, great, grey wolf with dark golden eyes leads them."

_Nymeria._ An unearthly howl resonated, nearer than the last. It sends a shiver up Arya's spine, causing the hairs at the back of her neck to stand on end. _Could it truly be her?_

The track narrowed leaving Arya to ride ahead of Gendry. She looks behind them from time to time, as they ride. Gendry too, she noticed, was alert and scanning their surroundings. _For wolves_ , she decides. His brow was damp with sweat, though they hadn't been riding hard. His ears pricked at every snapping twig. It was the other wolves Arya waited for. Wolves with a taste for gold and silver, rather than flesh.

 

"This rule of yours? About not asking questions." poses Gendry, leaving Arya to wonder if the thought of wolves has him questioning his decision to go with her.

"Well, it's a bit rough innit?" His tone is playful. Arya turns to face him and raises an eyebrow, bidding him to continue.

"I'm just supposed to follow you blindly then?"

"You wanted to come. I said 'No' remember?"

"Ah, but then you said 'Yes', Milady." He gives her a cheeky grin, leaning forward on his horse as if telling her a secret.

She wants to berate him for using that term, instead she twists around facing ahead once more, cheeks burning and her tummy aflutter. _Stupid! Stupid! You're acting like such a... girl!_ She chides herself.

"I'll let you know where we are going after you answer my question." Now composed, she looks back at him as she makes the offer and can see the smug, satisfaction in his face now that he has gotten his way.

"Well, come on. Out with it then." he says, leaning back, open and waiting.

"Who's Jeyne?" Gendry looks abashed, he runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. The track is wide enough now that they are able to ride side by side again, as Gendry tells her of how the Brotherhood Without Banners came to the inn years ago. Of finding a brown haired girl named Jeyne, running it with her younger sister, and of the orphans that ended up there.

"We were looking for you." there is sorrow and such a great need in his eyes as he says this, a need for her to know how he had looked for her. She learns that as they searched for her, the Brotherhood took children left orphaned by the war, back to the inn. How it became too dangerous, the inn was not secure enough to hold off an attack. Gendry tells her of the time an 'enormous woman knight' came looking for someone, and of the attack that followed.

"The man she killed wore The Hounds helm." Gendry adds, shaking his head. "Gods, I wish it had been him." He sucks in a breath, looking at her and then closes his mouth, biting back the question that is written in the concern, guilt and worse - pity, across his face. She knows what he thinks The Hound did. Heard the rumours and saw the devastation for herself, six days after leaving Clegane for dead.

"It wasn't him, Gendry. Whoever did that, killed all those people. It wasn't The Hound." The need to defend a man she had once had every intention to kill, takes her by surprise. "He never meant to hurt me." She realizes aloud, recalling that even when he'd hit her with an axe, it had been to stop her from running to her mother and Robb, where she would have joined their fate.

"He was trying to return me to my family." Laughing, Arya adds "Though not without a ransom of course." Gendry smiles at her jest, and the transformation is instant. His relief is evident to Arya, and it touches her heart to know that it matters, that she matters to him.

"So, um...what happened to the orphaned children?" She is glad to steer to conversation away from herself, and learns that after the attack with The Woman Knight and The False Hound, Tom O'Sevens convinced Lady Smallwood to take the orphans into her care at Acorn Hall. As part of the agreement, the Brotherhood Without Banners would give her a share of the money they 'acquired' and Gendry would stay on as a smith and labourer.

"She has a big heart, that one." Gendry recalls fondly.

"And Jeyne." Arya teases, leaning forward with a smile "Does she have a big heart too?"

"It wasn't like that." Gendry retorts, throwing his apple core at her. "Jeyne - wanted it to be like that." he tells her, rubbing the back of his neck, then turns to face the path they are following. "A nice girl. Bossy as they come. She'd point that wooden spoon at you like it was a sword, and everyone would fear it just the same." He laughed. Arya was grateful that Gendry had fond memories of the life he had when she was gone. The fact that another girl held a place in his heart, even if only as a spoon wielding, bossy friend - stung a little though.

"Anyway, after I'd been there for a couple of years, Jeyne started finding reasons to be around me all the time. Bringing pots and pans for me to mend in the forge, and watching me work. She'd laugh at things I said, even if they weren't funny." he looked bewildered. "Then one day, she just kissed me." He shrugged his shoulders, looking over at Arya. "Lady Smallwood permitted me to return to the Brotherhood soon after that."

"Did you like it? The kiss, I mean." _Why did I ask that?_ Arya thought as soon as the words left her lips. After a moment he nodded, just once.

"Did you two - "

"No." Gendry cut her off, his lips pressed into a hard line, she could see the tension in his jaw. She'd angered him. What was she thinking? That after all this time, she had any right to know if he'd bedded anyone? Arya was about to apologise when he spoke again.

"I thought about it." He admitted.

"why didn't you?" she asked quietly, not able to bring herself to meet his eyes.

"I don't want to father any bastards." Arya met his gaze and nodded, understanding completely. No words were needed to convey that she knew how he felt about his own life as a bastard.

"You could have married her."

"I thought about that too. It would have been a good match. As good as any baseborn bastard could hope for." Gendry answered bitterly.

"So, why didn't you?" Arya asked, trying not to look away from him as she waited for what seemed like a long time for him to answer.

"I didn't love her." Gendry answered finally, kicking his horse to ride ahead.

Watching his back as he rode, Arya's heart ached for him, for his lost chance at family. _Does he regret it? Does he miss her?_ A mournful howl not far away voiced the pain in her chest.

 

With Gendry now riding a few lengths in front of her, Arya takes the opportunity to look at the small portrait in the locket, provided by the client. Her hair is brown in the likeness, but there is no denying that bone structure, so like their mothers, or the Tully blue eyes. _She has grown to look so much like Mother_. Arya closes her eyes and bites her lip. It seems like another lifetime ago, when they were whole. Her family. Her _pack_. Slipping the locket back beneath her shirt, Arya permits herself to remember life at Winterfell. Of life before stupid Robert Baratheon made them go to Kings Landing, how everything fell apart thereafter. _Nymeria. I lost Nymeria first_.

A nearby howl sends an incredible wave of feelings and thoughts to crash through her. _Powerful. Protective. Longing. Family. Pack_. It overwhelms and passes through her in an instant.

"Uhh!" Arya gasps and slumps down in the saddle.

"Arya, are you alr-" Gendry starts to ask, but something behind her causes him to reign in his horse and bring it around. Looking over her shoulder, Arya finds Anguy with an arrow notched and aimed directly at her. Tom and Lem at his sides.

"You know he's a good shot girl. Don't try anything brave now." Lem says, dismounting his horse. Arya curses herself for being distracted, she should have been ready for them. "Now then, both of you climb down nice and slow, hand over that money o' yours, the horses as well and we'll be on our way." Tom spoke in a polite manner, belying the threat in his words.

"All for the cause, right Lem?" Gendry's tone on the other hand, was full of fury as he swung down from his saddle.

"That's right, me boy. To Lady Smallwood, and your lovely Jeyne."

"I'd wager they won't even see half of it." At this point Gendry had placed himself in front of Arya, his bulk making it impossible for Anguy's shot to hit her should he loose an arrow. "Is that why it's just the three of you here then, and why you didn't try this back at the inn? So you'd only have to share it amongst yourselves?"

"That's about enough out of you, Gendry. The money now or Anguy will put an arrow between those pretty blue eyes of yours." Tom ordered, stepping up to them with his hand out.

"Gendry." Arya warned softly, with her hand at his elbow. "It's fine, we'll just give them what they want." Stepping around him, Arya hands over the pouch. They are being watched, she is certain of it. Had the other men followed after all? Grabbing the pouch with his left hand, Tom grasps Arya's wrist with his right.

"You handed that over too easily. Where's the rest of it?" He is menacing now, with his face to hers she can smell his foul breath. There is no time to reply as a mass of snarling grey fur launched from the woods. Arya finds herself yanked to the ground by her wrist, which is released when they hit the dirt. Getting to her hands and knees she sees _her_ \- pinning Tom to the ground. A deep growl reverberates through the direwolf, lips peeled in a ferocious snarl, baring fangs that could crush through bone as easily as Arya could bite through bread. _Nymeria_. A rush of adrenaline floods Arya's senses, a lust for blood, and the deep seated need to protect takes over. She finds herself looking down into the terrified eyes of Tom, pinned beneath her. _Girl?_ It was not her thought, it was the wolfs, confused and fighting the intrusion. At once, Arya is back in her body, Gendry catching her as she staggered.

"Arya, don't move," he warns, holding her close. She holds onto him, trying to get her bearings. She looks back at the direwolf - _what was that?_ Arya had dreams where she was a wolf, hunting and running through the trees. Had seen through the eyes of a cat, but never anything like this. Nymeria's golden eyes flick from Arya to Gendry, still clutching her tightly. Lifting away from Tom, the massive wolf stalks toward them, ears pricked back, teeth bared at her new enemy.

"No!" Arya orders, twisting out of Gendry's grip and placing her body as a shield in front of him. Raising her palms toward Nymeria, trying to convey he is not to be harmed. "Nymeria. NO." The wolf drops her eyes to Arya then back up to Gendry, growling low and taking another step toward her prey. Arya's heart thumps so hard in her chest, how would she stop her? _I can't_. Gendry would be killed before her eyes, by her own direwolf.

"Nymeria, don't!" She pleads. _PACK!_ She knows she didn't say it aloud, she screamed it inside with all that she had. Nymeria sat, then dropped, resting her head on her front paws outstretched in the dirt at Arya's feet. Panting, Arya looked down amazed. Gold eyes looked up at her, eyebrows raising in an alternating fashion as Nymeria looks back and forth between her and Gendry. She hears the scrape of a boot on the ground as Tom tries to get up.

"Tom, stay still. Don't move." Gendry warns, looking all around them. Arya sees what he has found, hundreds of wolves encircle them. _Nymeria's pack_. Arya thinks proudly. She was not alone, and she leads this incredible pack. Anguy moves in her peripheral vision, unsure where to aim his arrow. Lem follows suit, pulling out his dagger, waving it erratically from left to right. _Don't_. But it's too late, the wolves perceive the threat and Lem is gone. A snapping, and clawing stack of fur and teeth had taken his place.

A yelp, as Anguy panics and lets loose his shot. A whiny, followed by the painful screams of both horse and rider as the wolves take down the archer and his mount. Arya doesn't want to look, but cannot take her eyes off the scene. Helplessly, she stands by as Tom, now hysterical, tries to scamper away still on his hands and knees. The wolves take him as well. Reaching her hand behind her to take Gendry's, she begs "Please. Don't move."

 

When the wolves finally disperse, and all that remain are Nymeria, Arya and Gendry, looking for the horses that fled deeper into the woods, Gendry turns to Arya.

"So, I answered your question. Where are we - " with a wave to Nymeria "and that wolf of yours - going?"

Running a hand through the thick fur behind Nymeria's ears, Arya beams up at him.

"Winterfell."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr Baelish has left his only chance in the hands of the Faceless Men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Littlefinger POV chapter

 

"Lord Baelish." Lothor Brune stood at the door of his solar, clad in full armour. His short mess of grey hair a stark contrast to the youthful exuberance that had radiated from the man since his marriage to the young Mya Stone. _How good of him to leave her thighs to see me._ Thought Petyr, sourly.

"Yes, Lothor. What brings you here, dressed so finely?"

"Mya has had word from Myranda Royce. Lyn Corbray is ascending from The Gates of the Moon."

"He is early, I am not required to leave until the morrow." Petyr pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger in an effort to ease the tension building in his head. It had been a moons turn since he had paid the Faceless Men for _Alayne's_ contract. An exorbitant amount, that had all but drained his funds. No longer financially able to keep Lyn Corbray in his employ, the Lords Declarant had convinced King Stannis to remove him from his position as Lord Protector of the Vale. In turn he was to leave the Eyrie and return to either The Fingers or Harrenhal.

"I shall see you safely to The Bloody Gate." Lothor said with a sympathetic bob of his head. The lands and keep promised to the knight following his efforts at the Battle of the Blackwater, had been denied by King Stannis at the end of the war. Had Lothor not married, he would be joining Petyr. As it was, releasing the knight from his household to stay on at the Eyrie, was a price he had to pay. _Two less mouths to feed._ He reminded himself.

"Just give me a moment to finish off in here, and we'll be on our way." Petyr raised a hand to dismiss him. After the door closed with a thunk, he returned to the two letters on his desk. The candlelight cast a yellow glow on the missives, one older than the other, the paper darkened with age. The newer one, was tattered and worn. It had been folded and unfolded time and again, read over and over before being hidden away.

He read the first letter once more. He had found it by the open Moon Door held down by a stone, the day Sweetrobin died. Her cloak, caught on the hinge, flew wildly in the icy wind.

_**I have no one left. I cannot bare it.**_

**_Alayne_ **

Her death pained him for years. _She was so like Cat._ His plan to wed her to Harrold Hardyng, to further secure his hold on the Eyrie. Lost. To someday reveal her as Sansa Stark and reclaim Winterfell. Gone. His grand plan to have Harry meet an unfortunate end, so he could wed Sansa and take all that he deserved - all of those things, floated away on the wind that carried her cloak that dark day.

Since then, he had fought to keep his seat in the Vale. Sought a way to put an end to the efforts of the Lords Declarant, to rid him of what was his by right. The girl he had given to Ramsay Bolton, as Arya Stark, was gone. Bolton's bastard himself, slain. His plans for the North were over.

With the second letter, a copy obtained by one of his spies kept at court, he could lose everything. His head notwithstanding.

**_His Grace, King Stannis of House Baratheon,_ **

**_First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men,_ **

**_Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm_ **

****

**_I write with the greatest hope of an annulment of my marriage to Tyrion Lannister. The Lannisters forced me into the union, which was never consummated. I know not whether Tyrion still lives, though have heard tales that he was with Daenerys Targaryen when she fought the war against the Others. I pray that you give my request due consideration and though I am journeying at present, I shall notify you of my destination when I arrive so that you may send your reply._ **

**_Sansa Stark_ **

Petyr crushed the letter in his fist. _She knows too much. Sweetrobin, Lysa, Marillion, Dontos, Joffrey,_ He was certain that had she known the part he played in Ned's death, or the fate he sent her friend Jeyne to, she would have listed his crimes in the letter, sealing his fate. It was only a matter of time. Having no other choice, he paid the Faceless Men almost everything he had. And that was just for a bastard.

' _She killed my wife Lysa, and my dear young stepson, Sweetrobin. So hungry for my affections, she did not wish to share me with another.' He had managed to cry a few tears as he arranged the contract. 'My daughter, she once told me of her plan to impersonate the lost Sansa Stark and become Lady of Winterfell. She is of an age with her and may dye her hair auburn as part of her disguise. It is where I fear she is most likely headed.' he wiped at his nose, watching for the man's reaction, but his face gave away nothing._

He could never have afforded to send them after Sansa Stark. Lady of Winterfell, _Princess of the North_ some called her. His hand went instinctively to his chest where the locket once lay. How he wished to look upon her once more. Closing his eyes, he remembered the kisses that they shared. ' _That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think ? '_ He grew hard remembering her soft, sweet lips, and wondered, not for the first time, why an annulment was the thing to draw her out of hiding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm makes things interesting

 

It had been three days since he walked out of the forge with little more than a change of clothing, the sword he'd made, and his hammer wrapped in a bedroll. Three days of endless riding, stopping only to eat, sleep, and tend the horses. Three days since the wolves.

Gendry shut his eyes tight, it did nothing to stop the images of the men being torn apart, from flashing behind his eyelids. Remembering the sounds of snarling, growling, screaming, the crunching of bones, and tearing of flesh made his stomach roil. He'd never been scared in his life.

While the thought of being torn apart by wolves was horrifying, he can't recall being worried about that at the time. What had _terrified_ him was the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop that from happening to Arya. He lets out a shaky breath, _She's alright._ It's all still so raw, so surreal, that Gendry still can't understand how they lived. _How did she do it?_

Arya is tightening the straps on one of the packs Syrio carries. Nymeria keeps her distance, under Arya's command so as not to spook the horses. He watches her as he finishes adjusting the saddle on his nameless horse. At the inn, the men simply referred to the horses by colour, but since this journey to Winterfell meant they would be in each other's company for close to a moons turn, Gendry decided the horse deserved better than just 'the brown one'.

"Florian?" Gendry asked, patting it's neck. The beast snorted and threw back its head in disgust. Gendry screwed his face up in agreement "You're right. It's a horrible name. Big, strong horse like you, you want a powerful name." Man and horse faced each other in silent anticipation. "I got nothing." Giving up for the time being, Gendry turned back to find Arya. He'd never so much as had a dog to name, _Gods help me if I ever have children. They'll be old enough to name themselves before I think of something._

_***_

Arya tenderly brushed her hand over one of Nymeria's thick furry ears. The wolf closed its eyes blissfully at the touch. They would part soon, as Arya and Gendry spent the day riding further north, following the King's Road but staying as far out of sight as possible, Nymeria would run deeper into the woods to hunt. She had found their scent and their camp at the end of each day, Arya wondered if she met up with some of her pack each time she left.

"Go." She gave her direwolf a pat to the rear and Nymeria bounded off, grey fur soon swallowed up by the greens and browns of the forest.

"Ready?" Gendry called, climbing into his saddle. From her vantage point, he was a striking sight to behold. The sunlight breaking through the building clouds made his eyes a startling bright blue. His thick black hair was tousled a little from his habit of always running a hand through it to keep it out of his face. He sat up on his horse, powerful and strong, the hilt of his sword, strapped to his back for riding, peaked out above his broad, muscled shoulder. Even without armour, he looked like someone who could command the respect of an army.

"Ready." She answered a little distracted. _'A maiden's fantasy.'_ Lem's words echoed in her mind, no truer words had ever been spoken.

 

The biting wind whistled through the air as they journeyed on, tangling her hair in Anguy's bow at her back. She held her place in the saddle with her thighs as she freed her hair, then fashioned it into a rough braid to keep it out of the way. She hadn't brushed it in two days, and dreaded getting the knots out later on. She was certain there were horses with tidier hair, but Arya was made for practicality not style. _Sansa always had beautiful hair._ She remembered the intricate southron styles her sister often wore. _She would have been disgusted to see mine after Yoren hacked it off_. She smiles sadly to herself as she pulls the hood of her cloak over her head.

Gusts of icy cold wind shriek through the edge of the woods, making it impossible to hear each other talk. The clouds overhead are heavy and dark, _It will rain soon, we won't make it very far today._ Arya thinks to herself. Thunder rolling in the distance confirms her fear. _Damn._ The storm hits, bringing rain down heavy and fast. Syrio begins to thrash with every lightening strike and roll of thunder, but Arya pushes him forward. Gendry's horse doesn't appear to be quite so bothered by it and trudges diligently ahead.

"Why can't you be more like him." Arya scolds. It's slow going, and Arya has to fight her horse every step of the way. She has just about had enough when she sees Gendry waving his arm to get her attention. She looks up and he points to what looks like a cluster of small boulders further along. By the time they reach them Ayra realizes they must have been further away than she thought, for they are really quite large and an uprooted tree rests over one of them. It will provide shelter from the rain and wind for the night.

 

They tie the horses reins to a tree within view of their small shelter and remove the packs and saddles.

"There isn't enough room under here for a fire, but at least it's dry." Gendry runs his hand over the leaf litter, shivering and looking up at her.

"You're f-freezing!" she manages through chattering teeth.

"You can talk." He laughs, rubbing his hands over his arms.

"Here, you're soaked through." Arya says, reaching up to untie his dripping wet cloak, her cold fingers fumbling as she loosens the knot. He is so still, she doesn't think he is even breathing. When she looks up, he is looking back so tenderly. Drops of water run down from the slick black hair over those wonderfully blue eyes that captivate her. His face reddens and he looks away shyly. _He looks like a little boy doing that._ She thinks as she hands him a blanket to wrap himself in. Hanging their drenched cloaks over the roots of the fallen tree before she too wraps a blanket around herself, Arya thinks how terrible it must be for Gendry to have lost his mother so young. To have never known his father. To have had no one to care for him for so long that the simple act of helping remove a wet cloak and caring that he was cold, made him react that way.

 

***

With the saddles and packs stacked up at one end of their meagre shelter, there is very little room left. Camping out in the open, these previous nights, they kept a respectable distance and set up their bedrolls either side of the fire. _Tonight_ there was only room for one bedroll.

"Just like when we were younger." Arya claims, trying to sound nonplussed, though she looked every bit as awkward as he felt. Gendry forced a small laugh, lying down giving her as much room as he can. "Just like that." _No it's not. It's different. You're different._ A distressing thought occurs to him, _I should have taken a piss before going to bed. What if in the morning I have a -_

"Goodnight Gendry." Arya rolls to her side, facing away from him. Sharing the blankets, their combined body heat has made it comfortably warm in this small space.

He looks over at her before turning over to face the other way. "Goodnight Arya."

 

Something tickles his face, but he is nice and warm, and not ready to wake up yet. He was having such a wonderful dream too. He pulls the blanket closer to his middle, but it isn't a blanket, it's something bigger. His eyes open to a head of tangled brown hair in his face. _FUCK!_ _Oh shit! Please let her still be asleep. Please. Please._ He slowly pulls his arm away from her middle where he had held her tightly. Slides his head back, then his hips, feeling her arse against his cock with that motion. _Gods help me! I hope she didn't feel me poking her all night._ He has never felt so completely mortified in his life. _Please stay asleep_ he prays. If she woke to find him holding her like that, with a morning cockstand she'd make a eunuch out of him.

_She looks so peaceful._ He watches her sleep for a moment, her hair is a mess but it suits her. Her long black eyelashes rest gently on her cheeks, rosy from slumber. But, it's her mouth he can't take his eyes away from. Her lips parted ever so slightly, she looks as he would imagine her waiting for a kiss. _From a lord, or a prince_ he reminds himself. _Not some bastard blacksmith._ Biting his own lower lip, Gendry leaves her to sleep and ducks his head under the overhanging tree.

Waiting for him outside is her wolf _Nymeria._ He doesn't dare move. He has not been alone with the wolf before. Was it true they sensed fear? He hoped not, he would reek of it. Nymeria pads over to him slowly. Gendry's breathing hastens and becomes shallow. Stopping at his side, Nymeria sniffs at Gendry's hand. He closes his eyes, preparing to have it bitten off, then feels her nose nudge his palm. He looks down, as she does it once more. _She wants me to pet her?_ Cautiously, he raises his fingers to the fur at the top of her head. It is thick and soft. The wolf sits and closes her eyes, leaning in to Gendry's hand. He shakes his head and smiles, giving her a scratch. Satisfied, Nymeria gets up and goes to join Arya.

He watches her go in, hears Arya wake and mumble something to her direwolf, then walks over to tend the horses. Both, he is relieved to find, are still tethered, and with the storm over Syrio seems in better spirits.

"Don't care much for loud noises do you?" He asks the horse, setting down some oats. With a brush of its mane, Gendry leaves Arya's horse to eat and sets down some oats for 'the brown one'.

"You did alright though, didn't you?" He congratulates the horse with no name. "That storm didn't bother you at all." giving him a light pat on the side, Gendry smiles decidedly.

" That's what I'll call you then. Storm."

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

 

The rope pulls tighter around her neck, strangling her as her fingers claw and scratch, tearing the skin around it in their futile plight. Her chest burns with the need to breathe. Her feet drag and kick against the earth as she is hoisted higher and higher. They don't touch the ground at all now. _I am going to die. Fight. Fight it._ It is not in her to give up.

Her limbs are heavy, heavier than she's ever known them to be. The world around her grows darker, only one face illuminates the black. _Lady Stoneheart._ She is a horror, a gruesome shell of the beautiful Lady Stark she had sworn an oath to. Eyes, faded to the palest blue, stare out from sunken sockets, watching them hang. Eyes that find no joy in what they see, only vengeance.

Brienne's voice rasped as she forced it past the rope which bound her "Gendry." Would his name be her last word? There was a flash by Lady Stoneheart's head, a reflection of fire on steel, before the head rolled to the ground and all went black.

Renly looked down on her, lifting the rope over her head as she choked in what little air her tortured throat would allow.

"Run!" He yelled, handing her Oathkeeper, but it wasn't Renly. _I have to tell him._ The words wouldn't come, only wracked sobs as she clutched her neck, feeling the sting of rope burns on her skin. _I need to tell him._

"RUN!" He pulled her roughly to her feet and turned away, disappearing into the void. As Jaime took her by the arm to lead her out, The Hounds snarling helm floated bodiless and toward her. Her cheek felt alight with flames, _No - I killed you._ It drew nearer and nearer. She reached for the helm, her hand swallowed up by the terrible, sharp teeth. The yellow cloak behind it lifted and snapped in the wind, twisting against the sea of black, growing smaller and smaller until it was gone.

The steel mountain loomed in front of her. The sun shining off the enormous armour lit her new surrounds. The arena was alive, seething and hissing, as lowly beggars, high lords and all walks of life in between screamed for Queen Cersei's blood.

A waif of a man, a shadow of Jaime, was to champion the faith against the Queen's champion - Robert Strong. _He will die, the first blow that monster delivers will end him._ Jaime tries to dissuade her, pushes her bodily against the wall after Brienne nominates herself as a fairer opponent.

"He'll kill you!" Jaime calls out enraged "There is no denying who Robert Strong truly is. Gods, woman I've told you all that he's done! No other man could ever best Gregor Clegane."

" I am no man." Brienne defends, certain that this is what the Gods made her for. Why she is built the way she is. Why she had dreamed of becoming a knight in the first place. She sees the awe and trepidation in the faces of Hyle Hunt and young Pod as they look on, not daring an attempt to stop her.

Brienne stepped back from Jaime who watches her as though she was being lowered into her grave. She took The Hounds helm from Pod, advising both he and Hyle what to do should she fail. Then slipped it over her head as easily as a noose. If it really was Gregor Clegane from Jaime's story of the younger brother's burns, she would make sure The Hound's face was the last The Mountain ever saw.

 

She was ailing. They both wore heavy armour, impossible to penetrate, but where her blows struck like a rock skipping on water, Robert Strong's had caused deep dents in hers. The armour pushed into and cut her skin in places underneath. The sheer force of his attack sent her sprawling, she felt each hit, bone deep. Nearing exhaustion now, she had done little more than scratch his plate. Her sword arm trembled every time she deflected another strike.

Her hair stuck to her head with the sweat that trickled down her neck, and into her eyes. She sucked in air, grasped Oathkeeper with both hands and drove it up under his arm. It jammed in the folds of steel, making her lose her balance. Pulling the sword free, she fell to the ground and rolled onto her back. Robert Strong dropped to his knees, great sword in one hand, the neck of her breastplate in the other. As his sword arm drew back, Brienne thrust her sword through the visor of his helm and rolled to the side and away. She heard steel on steel hit the ground and turned to find only Oathkeeper and Ser Strong's helm on the ground. He stood, completely headless, thick black blood oozing from the neck of his armour. The crowd went silent before erupting into hysteria. Brienne froze. Her sword lay at the monsters feet, even if she could reach it what good would it do?

He stepped toward her.

"Brienne!" She heard her name distantly, blood rushed in her ears muffling the sound.

"Brienne!" It came from the stands up above, Jaime was held back by two guards. She was back at Harrenhal, in the pit. She'd fought the bear with all her might, but this time Jaime couldn't jump in to rescue her.

"FIRE!" Jaime yelled. The bear became Robert Strong. "Brienne, use a torch!" Jaime cried out, fighting against the men holding him. The walls of the arena were lined with torches, the nearest was fifteen paces away. Limping toward it, it may as well have been fifteen miles. She was bone tired. The ground seemed to shake under the weight of the giant closing in behind her.

Her fingers brushed the torch as her other arm became encased in an iron grip. Wrapping her hand around the stem, Brienne lifted her free arm, turned on her heel and brought the flame down onto the gaping black hole.

 

Brienne sat up, kicked the furs from her legs and scampered to the other end of the bed. Strong arms wrapped around her before she could reach the floor.

"Shhhhh. Brienne, it's alright. Just another dream." He rocked her back and forth. Her heart still raced, but it was slowing. Her arms shook, but found their way around his shoulders.

"I've got you. It's over." He whispered into her ear still holding her. She nodded and let out a breath, breaking away enough to see his face. The fire in the hearth had gone out, but the room was still warm. It surprised her, given where they were. The almost full moon shone through the window, giving them enough light to see each other clearly. She was no longer self conscious of the scars on her cheek, for years now, he looked at her as though she was The Maiden herself.

"Come back to bed." He kissed her forehead, then they lay down with his arm under her neck, his stump resting on her upper arm. He cupped her face with his hand and kissed her softly. The scruff of the beard he grew to shield him from the biting cold outside, brushed her face.

"I love you Jaime." She breathed against his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry are about halfway to Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a big fluffy sap.

 

The flame just wouldn't take. The dry grass beneath the kindling would catch the spark, only for the cold wind to blow it out time and time again.

"Bloody hells." Arya groaned, throwing the flint into the unlit fire.

Nymeria bounded from the trees, a soggy, wet mess, with Gendry trailing behind. Arya tried to shield herself, squealing as Nymeria shook, spraying water all over her.

"There's a stream just down that way a bit." Gendry told her, shaking the water from his own hair. _He looks like a dog or a wolf shaking himself off._ The thought would have made Arya laugh, if she wasn't in such a bad mood.

"Sorry. I couldn't get the fire started with this wind." She gestured, irritated. " That water must be freezing." She added as he made his way over to try his hand at lighting it.

"It's bloody cold alright!" He exclaimed "Worth it though, it's nice to be clean again." He rearranged some of the larger pieces of wood to shelter the kindling from the wind. "There's fish in there too. Well, there were before that stupid wolf of yours jumped in after me. Scared them all off most like." Gendry threw a stick in Nymeria's direction as if to prove he didn't like her. Arya knew better. She saw the times he gave her a scrap of rabbit or fowl from his own meal, and witnessed the occasional scratch he'd work up the courage to give her.

"Fish would be a nice change for supper." Arya said, walking over to hunt through her satchel. "Where...mmph. Where is it?" She mumbled to herself. "Aha!" She held up the small fishing net she'd brought with her from Braavos. "Hopefully, I'll have better luck with the fish than I did with that damned fire."

As if to rub salt in the wound, a crackling sound came from between Gendry's cupped hands. He stopped blowing on the budding flames, held his chin high and pointed to his handiwork with both hands. Arya poked her tongue out at him and marched off to find the stream. _Smug bastard._

***

 

Gendry was enjoying the warmth of his fire, hands behind his head, resting against the saddle on the ground. Nymeria was dozing on the other side of the fire, she lifted her head and wagged her tail as Arya approached. Lifting himself onto his elbows to see her, Gendry thought he'd wag his tail too if he had one.

Her wet hair hanging freely almost reaching her waist. Her lips and cheeks were rosy pink from the cold, and her steel grey eyes were alight with exhilaration. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

"I caught three -" She thrust her arm out proudly, the bundled net containing her catch swung from her hand. "-it was easy, there were so many. I just lay the net open in the shallow pool, waited for one to swim over it, and just kept scooping them up." She handed it to him "Here, you gut them, I need to dry off." She gathered her hair to one side to squeeze the water out, oblivious that the locks that had hung in front of her shoulders rendered her shirt quite transparent. Two little pink buds peered out at him. _Gods!_ He looked away as all the blood in his body decided at once to fill his face and cock in equal measure. Gendry cleared his throat and turned his back on her to tend to the fish. "Oh, good. Um - I'll ah, do this, you dry off and get warm. It'll be dark soon." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. _How am I going to get through the other half of this journey?_

Worse yet, he wondered how he was going to let her go once they got there. They'd fallen back into the easy companionship of their childhood within a day or two of her return. They would jest and tease each other to pass the time as they travelled. He had told her all he knew of what had happened in Westeros during her absence. The whispered tale of how the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was killed by his own men and resurrected by a witch. How the men of the Night's Watch had fallen or deserted. The false Arya. Stories of Ramsey Bolton's demise, " _Stannis and his men captured him, that or the ghost of a wolf tore him to pieces - it depends on who's telling the story and how much they've had to drink."_

She was attentive, hanging on his every word. He couldn't answer her question about her brother Jon, no word of any individual man of the Night's Watch reached the Riverlands, only the story of an undead Lord Commander was worth passing on by means of drunken gossip. She was just as interested in hearing what he felt were the more boring details of his own existence. How he was treated by the Brotherhood Without Banners, and how he made his sword - which he happily spoke about in great detail.

They worked well as a team, setting up camp, caring for the horses, hunting and cooking. They continued to sleep side by side after the storm, both citing the benefit of shared body heat as they ventured further north. For him personally, having her by his side of a night comforted him. He could reach out with his fingertips or foot, and feel her still beside him, safe. Side by side wasn't how they ended up each morning though. He would wake to find himself curved around her from behind, or Arya curled up into his side or chest with his arm around her. Gendry thanked the heavens she was a sound sleeper. He was able to peel himself away from her every morning before she woke, saving himself the humiliation and her wrath were she ever to find out.

 

By the time he turned back around, the fish ready to cook, she had put her jerkin on and he was grateful. It would help stop his eyes from wandering to her chest. _You're a filthy pervert Gendry._ He scolded himself.

***

 

She watched the sky as black became dark blue, then purple, pink and vivid orange. She always woke before dawn, Gendry only ever came out of his slumber when the sun lit the sky. His breath tickled the back of her neck as he made a puff sound. Her signal that he was waking up. Arya closed her eyes and lay still and limp, feigning sleep as she did every morning.

His lips smacked behind her, his mouth always hung open a little when he slept deeply. _He'll be thirsty when he gets up._ She felt his fingers twitch where they lay, wrapped around her middle. Then a tug of her hair, as he pulled his head back from where it rested on her brown locks like a pillow. _He's awake._

It's hard not to smile when she feels him lift himself away ever so gently so as not to wake her. He pulls the cloak up to cover her shoulders and he is gone. The feeling of loss is immediate, and Arya longs for the next sunrise already.

_Time to get up._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news all round at Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bitch!  
> I wanted to cover a lot of history for two of my favourite characters in this one chapter, but kept running off on a tangent. I did my best to condense it, and hope it doesn't disappoint the sansan fans.

Jon gave Sandor a congratulatory pat on the shoulder before heading off to the yard to make Brienne the offer. He watched the man leave then read the letter in his hands once more. _It's done._ Closing his eyes, he allowed the weight of his woes to fall from his shoulders. The years of running and hiding since the Battle of the Blackwater were finally over. He turned to look down from the walk he'd helped rebuild, and onto the yard where Jon now spoke to Brienne. _She did it._

From the moment their paths crossed on the journey from The Quiet Isle to the north, Brienne had made it her duty to see his name cleared. Sandor was awed by her. The woman knight who had slain the horror that was once his brother. She presented him with the helm he wore when he was known as the Hound. The helm she carried for years, dismayed by the taint upon the true owners name, for crimes she knew all too well he did not commit. In gratitude for seeing to Sansa's safety, and thus satisfying her own oath to Sansa's lost mother, Brienne began her stubborn plight to restore his honour.

"Master at arms." Jaime said, appearing beside him to watch the scene below. "Or, do you think she'll be called - _Mistress_ at arms?" Jaime looked to Sandor, green eyes glinting with mischief. "I do so like the sound of 'mistress'." He added, watching Brienne take a knee and present her sword on both hands in assent.

"I thought you liked to call her _Wench_?" Sandor responded blandly.

"Only in the bedroom."

Sandor burst into harsh, gravelled laughter. "You're a braver man than I, Lannister."

"Braver. Better looking. Though I will grant, you do have both of your hands, which does seem to have its merits." Jaime gestured to the vision that is Sansa, making her way toward them, hands folded delicately over her rounded belly.

" _That_ wasn't accomplished with my hands." Sandor murmured.

Jaime laughed, recovering as Sansa reached them. "Lady Sansa, I fear I must deny you the pleasure of my company." he apologised, laying a kiss on her hand. "I must go and congratulate Lady Brienne." He bowed in farewell.

 

"Congratulate?" The little bird asked, lifting up onto her toes to press her sweet lips to his. He bent down to accommodate the height difference. Now ten and eight, Sansa was certainly tall for a woman, but Sandor still towered over her by almost one and a half feet. He ran a hand through her silken, auburn locks and deepened the kiss. He could taste the honeyed wine on her tongue, and as her tiny hand curled around the back of his neck to pull him closer, he couldn't hold back the low growl that rumbled in his throat. She giggled at the sound and dropped back onto her heels, looking up at him with eyes so blue, licking his taste from her lips. _Vixen._

He smiled down at her, a horrible sight to anyone other than his little bird. She was one of the few who saw past his scars, and the only one to look at him as though he were as fair a sight as she.

"Will you tell me, or shall I guess?" She teased.

"Hmmm?" He placed his large, weathered hands at her belly, hoping to feel their babe move. Their babe, who because of a letter from King Stannis, and the testimony of the Elder Brother and Winterfell's new 'Mistress at arms', would not grow to be shamed by its father.

"Oh, Jon has asked Lady Brienne to be the Master at arms." He turned her to see Jon, Brienne and Jaime gathered in the yard, and stood behind her, cupping her shoulders gently.

"She is incredible."

"That she is." Sandor passed the letter to her and lay a kiss to the crown of her head. As Sansa read, Sandor's thoughts returned to when he saw her for the first time since the Blackwater.

 

 _He hadn't wanted to go to the Eyrie. His leg still troubled him, there were graves to be dug, and he would be of no use to the sickly, young Lord Arryn. The_ _Elder Brother would heed none of it. "I believe this will be good for your soul."..._

_...Her hair was brown, but it shimmered with red where the dye was fading. It made no matter, Sandor would know her even if her hair was as blue as her eyes. Little bird. He hunched in his robes, pulling the cowl and hood lower to further hide his features. How did she end up here?_

_"My apologies, I regret I was detained." Baelish. What is Littlefucker doing here?_

_"I trust my daughter, Alayne, has made you welcome."..._

_..."Little bird." His voice a low crackle, long unused. He'd waited in a shadowed corner by her chamber, until she walked by. She stopped, and stood motionless. He held his breath waiting for her to turn. Walked up behind her with his heart in his throat, not knowing how she would react. She may call herself Alayne now, but he'd seen this persona before. Seen Sansa hold her chin high and recite the songs she'd been taught, playing at being happy and whole on the outside, while inside she fell apart. She turned, face cold and emotionless. Sandor pulled back his cowl and hood, then lifted a shaky hand to brush her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch, and she held his hand to her face with her own._

_"I'm not dreaming." She exhaled, tears falling from her eyes though she smiled..._

_... She told him everything behind the closed door of her chamber, stopping every so often to make sure he wasn't a dream. There was a knock at the door, Sandor moved to the wall behind it and nodded for Sansa to open it. She peered out, and at the sound of the Elder Brother's voice, Sandor opened the door wide and beckoned him in._

_"I'm afraid it was too late." He held the little bird's hands to comfort her, "The young Lord passed in his sleep. Perhaps if we'd been sent for earlier -"_

_"No." Sansa shook her head. "Lord Baelish held off on the largest dose of sweetsleep until you were here to bare witness that it was a natural death."..._

_...The cloak and letter were placed at the moon door, as Petyr Baelish was taken to mourn over little Lord Arryn's body. Only one person noticed that seven brothers and novices left, where as only six arrived. The black haired, blue eyed girl lowering the basket, merely reaching under Sansa's hood to tuck a loose lock of her hair back under cover._

Sansa pressed the letter to her bodice and rested her head back on Sandor's chest.

"How can we ever thank them? They've done so much."

He knew she spoke not only of the testimonies, which cleared him of any part in the sack of the Saltpans, but the Elder Brother's involvement in her escape from Littlefinger's clutches. The subsequent years he permitted them to hide and heal on the Quiet Isle. His forgiveness when Sandor chose his love for Sansa above life as a novice.

"The king has approved your annulment little bird." Sandor reminded her, stroking the curve of her belly.

"Just give her a little more time, Sandor."

A raven from the Riverlands had brought news that Arya was sighted at an inn. The very next day, the King's permission for Sansa to remarry arrived. Sandor wanted nothing more than to make Sansa his wife under one of the heart trees she so dearly loved. But, Sansa had unshakable faith that it truly had been her sister at that inn, and wanted to wait for her to head for Winterfell. For where else would she go?

"She is coming here Sandor. I know she is."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya chance upon an inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS! I updated with the draft chapter by mistake. Sorry folks!  
> I have replaced it with the finished chapter (not much of an improvement really).  
> That'll teach me for updating my fic when I'm overtired and delirious.

 

'An inn? Are you sure?' Arya asked.

'Just down there. Come, have a look.' Gendry replied, beckoning for her to catch up to him at the top of the rise.

Reigning Syrio in to a halt beside Storm, she observed the small stone built inn and it's surrounds. A stable, two out sheds and a handful of small homes further on. It didn't appear to be an overly busy place, and lightly populated. Arya gathered they must rely heavily on the custom of travellers from the Kings Road.

Should they risk it? Would anyone take notice of them? She looked over Gendry's appearance and then her own. _We don't look like we'd have anything of value, other than Gendry's sword perhaps._ Nor did they look like they'd bring any harm, she hoped. The thought of spending a night in a warm bed - _inside,_ and eating a meal they wouldn't have to kill first, won her over.

'Just make sure your sword is covered by your cloak, we don't want to draw any attention to ourselves. We'll eat, then try to get some rest.' Arya pulled her hood up, then sent Nymeria away. 'Nymeria, hunt!' Once the wolf was out of sight, they made their way down the hill.

***

 

'The two o' you, aye? One room?' Questioned the toadish inn keep, a squat man with few teeth, who smelled like a particularly strong combination of feet and old cheese. Gendry thought it best to breathe through his mouth.

'Yes, my brother and I will share a room. Two serves of whatever is being cooked for supper, and a jug of ale as well.' Arya answered, politely.

_Sister?_ Gendry felt his stomach drop. He pushed past Arya and left her to pay. Choosing the table closest to the door, he slumped down on a bench awaiting their food and wondered what bothered him more, that Arya had to pay his way, or that she chose to pretend she was his sister while doing it.

'Here.' Arya set the jug down on the table, and a mug in front of him before taking the seat opposite.

'Should've tried breathing through your mouth.' She advised, pouring herself a drink.

'Huh?'

'You stormed off in a hurry, couldn't stand that stinky old man any longer?'

Gendry nodded and took a long draw of his ale. Rubbing his forehead with his hand, he looked around the room. There were three grey haired, haggard looking men at a table on the other side of the room, well into their cups already, laughing and blabbering loudly. Otherwise, it was just them.

 

'What's taking the bloody food so long?' Gendry snapped aloud, causing Arya to kick him under the table.

'Shhh!' She scowled at him. 'Don't draw attention, remember? Besides, we haven't been waiting that long.' She crossed her arms and glared at him, speaking softly but with the kind of authority that made him feel like a small child being scolded by his mother. It did nothing to improve his mood. _Why does she always have to make me feel so bloody stupid?_ He raked his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots at the back of his head.

'I take you away from civilisation for little more than half a moons turn, and look at you.' Arya pointed. 'You've forgotten how to be around people. Perhaps you should sleep in the stable.' She added in mock seriousness, her sly half smile giving away her jest. He couldn't help but smile back, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood.

'Ere you go. Trenchers with mutton stewed in ale and onions.' A pudgy, white haired old woman said, setting down their supper. _The cook?_ _The inn keeps wife? Both probably._ Gendry thought.

'Thank you.' He said as she topped up their mugs before leaving.

'Much better.' Arya rewarded, looking a little smug.

The bread was stale, but the stew softened it enough. They ate heartedly, in silence but for the men at the other table.

'...then she rode that dragon to the far north -' the shorter one started.

'You're a damn fool, Harlan. Everyone knows they shot the Targaryen pretender _and_ her dragon out o' the sky by mistake. With one of their own catapults!' exploded the bearded one.

'Ahh! Pfff. Load of rot, that is...' Harlan shot back.

Arya and Gendry look away from the drunken scene, and Arya smirked. Gendry was too distracted to find it amusing.

'Why'd you say we were brother and sister?'

'So he wouldn't question us sharing a room. Why? Would you prefer I told him I was your _wife_?' She taunted, batting her eyelashes. Gendry coughed, the piece of bread stuck in his throat. He hacked and coughed some more, trying to dislodge it. Arya came around the table to pound him on the back. At last it loosened and he swallowed it, wiping the tears from his eyes and going for some ale to wash it down.

Arya, still laughing, slid her hands up his back and onto his shoulders, bending to whisper in his ear. 'Look at how embarrassed you are at the mere mention of it.' Her voice is like honey, warm and sweet in his ear. 'What if I had said that instead, and wrapped my arms around you. Kissed your cheek maybe.' She was close enough to do just that, and Gendry hoped she would, even if only to prove her point. 'You'd have turned bright red and probably choked on your own tongue. He'd have known for certain that we were lying.' He watched her walk back to her seat, smiling to herself. _She wants me to feel embarrassed. I'll get her for this._

 

'...every time one dragon falls out the sky 'nother one hatches. That new lord o' Winterfell, people sayin' he's a Targaryen.' Grumbled one of the drunkards.

Arya furrowed her brow and mouthed _lord of Winterfell?_ Gendry shrugged and shook his head, not knowing what they were rambling about.

'Oh, pull the other one Donnel, 'sides he's only lord until little Lord Stark comes of age...'

'Ar-' Gendry began, but Arya raised a hand to silence him. She was staring blankly into the space between them. _What is going on in that head of hers?_ He watched her, feeling more than a little hurt at not being privy to her thoughts.

 

'The King will want to find a match for 'is daughter soon.' The bearded man shook his head, ' _Greyscale_. Horrible way for a man to go, and a King at that.'

'She can't get it though, can she? Face all scared up, poor girl, who's gone want to wed 'er?' The old fool belched, earning a smack to the head from the man on his left.

'Any man who wants to be King, you melon head.'

'I feel sorry for her.' Gendry told Arya. 'Some lord will marry her to become King, and people everywhere will think he can't love her because of her face.'

But Arya wasn't listening. She was daydreaming with a hint of a smile on her mouth. _What in the hells is going on with her?_ She'd been strange since the drunkards mentioned the Targaryen lord at Winterfell. _Is she thinking about him? Some purple eyed lord with silver hair?_ Gendry pictured someone like Ned Dayne, only older, the lord of Arya's home. He remembered them, back then. Happily riding together, talking, leaving him with Hot Pie. _She liked Ned, with his pretty hair and pretty manners. Maybe she'll like this man too._

***

 

_Little Lord Stark._ Arya heard those three wonderful words over and over again in her mind. She clutched the locket at her breast through her fabric of her shirt. _Bran or Rickon? One of them is alive, and at Winterfell._ She couldn't believe it, after all these years she would not only have her sister, but a brother as well. _Sansa should be Lady of Winterfell, not this Targaryen._ She would be sure to see him leave. _Who does he think he is?_

'I'm going up to the room.' Gendry drained the last of his ale, and stood to leave. She'd almost forgotten he was there, and where they were.

'What? Oh.' She got up to walk with him, but he didn't wait. He stalked off with his shoulders up around his ears. _What is he so mad about?_ She followed, stepping around tables and benches, then climbed the stairs. Once in the room she found Gendry stoking the fire vigorously.

'What is the matter with you? You've been angry since we got here.' She demanded, shutting the door.

'I'm surprised you even noticed.' Gendry half threw the poker to the floor and stood to face her.

'What? Look, Gendry, when we get to Winterfell -'

'You'll marry that Lord Targaryen you've been dreaming about all through supper. Maybe keep me on as a smith?' He huffed.

'WHAT?!' _Where did that come from?_ 'Don't be STUPID! Why didn't you tell me about this Lord Targaryen anyway?'

'I didn't _know_ , did I?'

'You know all about packs of hundreds of wolves in the Riverlands, Lord Commanders of the Night's Watch being raised from the dead, dragons, giants and wildlings fighting Others, but never heard of some Targaryen ruling Winterfell? MY HOME?'

'Well, if I did hear about it I don't remember. Not like it was going to matter to me back there in the forge, was it? Wolves tearing men apart where I lived, course I'm going to pay attention to _those_ stories. Giants, dragons and Others? Who _isn't_ going to take notice of that kind of talk?' HIs voice boomed at her.

 

Neither of them would back down she realised. 'I've had enough.' She turned, deciding that having the last word was as good as winning the argument. 'I'm not going to stay up yelling at you all night, when this is probably the last bed I'll get to sleep in before I get home.' She kicked off her boots and hung needle by the bed post. Gendry mumbled behind her, taking his own boots off.

'...in _his_ bed.' She thought she heard him say. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of biting back, Arya simply slid off her jerkin and climbed into bed in her breeches and shirt. She kept to the edge of the bed, nearest the door with her back to the side Gendry would sleep. There would be no _accidental_ brush of her fingers against his tonight, no waking up in one another's embrace. _Stubborn arse._

 

She heard the sound of cloth dropping to the floor, _his shirt?_ She wondered.It was warm in the room, warmer than they were used to, camping outdoors. As angry as she was, Arya wanted very badly to open her eyes and see him, bare chest and clad only in his breeches, with the warm glow of the firelight dancing on his skin. She clamped her eyes shut and bit her lip. The bed shifted as he climbed past her, and she heard him punch the pillow to get comfortable.

 

It was the worst sleep Arya had in days. Her fury and arousal kept her awake. How was it that she wanted to hit him and yell at him for his ridiculous behaviour, yet at the same time, couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to crawl over to him in the night, slip her shirt over her head to feel his warm skin press against her own. To have his rough hands skim her back and roll her beneath him, taking her mouth with his. How he would taste on her lips. What it would feel like, to have him lay between her thighs. To have him inside her.

 

She woke first, as usual, only this time they were still at separate ends of the bed. Sitting up, Arya looked over to see Gendry shirtless, just as she'd imagined. _Damn him._ He had one hand resting on the firm, flat span of his belly, the forearm of the other is laid across his eyes. His thick crop of black hair a dishevelled mess, and the blanket wrapped around one leg. She felt him toss and turn through the night as much as she did.

His breeches sit low on his hips, and there is a fine trail of dark hair from his belly button leading down to his laces and below. Her eyes follow the line until it disappears, then continue to look further down. She pictured him beneath the cloth and clenched her thighs tightly.

'Having a good look?'

_FUCK!_ Arya sprang out of bed. 'No, I -'

Gendry laughed, sitting up. 'Don't lie, I've been watching you staring at my cock. Trying to remember what it looks like from when I used to piss in front of you, thinking you were Arry?' Arya can feel her face warming from shame and humiliation. _I hate him._

'I remember, and it wasn't anything to brag about.' She lied.

'You _have_ forgotten.' Gendry replied, looking offended and pretending to undo his laces. His blue eyes trained on hers daring her to be the one to back down.

'STOP! You win, alright? I did look, and am _completely_ embarrassed. Are you happy now?' She admitted, spreading her arms in defeat.

"I am. _I'm_ happy, and _you're_ blushing. Sure you don't want a peek for old time sake?' Gendry grabbed for his laces again.

'Uggh!' Arya threw a pillow at him, slipped on her boots and walked out the door.

'Yes. Let's go eat, I'm starving.' Gendry called out laughing.

_Bastard!_

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry has embarrassed Arya, and he is revelling in it... for a while.

 

As they broke their fast on porridge with stewed apples, Arya refused to look at or talk to him. Gendry knew that he should feel bad for humiliating her, _wanted_ to feel bad, but every time he thought back on catching her out it made the laughter bubble up inside him all over again.

He felt the corners of his mouth curl up once more and had another spoonful of the sweet, warm slop to hold it back. Childish as it was, he couldn't help but feel delighted, after all, she _was_ looking. He glanced at her over the rim of his mug as he drank, the realisation of all that implied finally setting in. _Why was she looking? Simple curiosity? No. She had brothers, surely she would have seen them bathing and such, besides she's seen mine before._ He watched her eat, eyes downcast, her cheeks still a pretty, rosy pink. _Does she want me?_ He set the mug down and looked back to his bowl. _Don't be stupid. You're nothing, Gendry. Not a lord, barely a knight, just a bastard from Flea Bottom, that's all. Nothing. Arya. She's - she's everything._

His stomach felt empty, though he'd eaten his fill. He felt an ache deep within his chest and there was no fooling himself that the pain was indigestion. It was something much worse. An incurable affliction that wouldn't kill him, but wound him for the rest of his life. One day Arya would wed, and he would forever mourn the loss of something that was never his.

Gendry desperately wanted to end the silence. 'I'm sorry.' he said. Being alone with the thoughts in his head was the cruellest torture, but Arya kept on ignoring him. She stood up from her seat, picked up her belongings and went to pay the inn keep. Gendry rolled his eyes and followed. _Arya, you_ s _tubborn little -_ 'How much longer are you going to be mad for?' He blurted. Arya turned on the spot to glare at him. Those incredible grey eyes that he so often lost himself in, now shone like steel and burned with hatred. _Forever,_ they seemed to say. Arya must have thought so too, as she turned and stormed off without a word. Gendry dragged a hand down his face then trailed behind her with his tail between his legs.

***

 

Arya and Syrio lead the way, Gendry rode Storm a few lengths behind giving her space. For that she was grateful. At the same time she wanted to knock him to the ground and slap and hit him until he never laughed at her again. Arya felt sick, she wanted the ground to open up into a gaping chasm beneath her and swallow her whole.

_Oh Gods, what must he think of me?_ Had she misread everything? The way he held her as they slept. The ardent looks he gave her. Was she so wrong? He found it hilarious that she would be looking at him so lustfully while they were abed, then reminded her of how he used to think she was a boy. Perhaps that was how he would always see her, as Arry.

She drew her cloak tighter around herself to keep out the chilled air. Though it was spring, they were nearing the north, where snow was not uncommon even in summer. Six or seven more days, she estimated it would take to reach Winterfell. She hoped there would be no snow until then. _Snow. Jon._ She thought fondly. Closing her eyes, the wind through her hair could have been his fingers, messing it as he once did. Her cloak, his warm embrace. _What happened to you Jon?_ Arya's hand went to the locket. It and needle both, were the last tangible items she had to remember her family by. The locket, the very reason she was here.

_They gathered around the table. Nameless. Faceless._

_'I will give this man the gift.' said one. 'I know him not.' To him, the Kindly Man gave the contract and enough coins to complete the assignment. Then they moved on to the next. It was an impassive process of naming names, justification for the gift of the Many-Faced God, and of going around the table declaring if you did or did not know this person, thus deciding who would give the gift._

_Amongst those gathered, sat one smaller than the others. A woman, faceless since a child. No-one. She waited patiently, all those to her left assigned contracts. She would be offered the next, unless it was someone she knew. A trivial formality she thought._

_'A woman of eight and ten.' Called the Kindly Man, addressing the entire table. 'The bastard daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale, Petyr Baelish.' Beneath the blank face that was No-one, a distant, long since unheard voice thought a word. Littlefinger?_

_'This woman, Alayne Stone, has killed her cousin and betrothed, Lord Robert Arryn, as well as her stepmother, Lady Lysa Arryn.' Sweetrobin? Aunt Lysa? Came that long forgotten voice in her head. Outwardly, she remained unaffected._

_'Lord Baelish advises that she craved his affections and killed them both so that she would no longer need share his love. He has provided a likeness, so that you may know her.' He held up a silver locket then passed it to the man at his left, she would be the last to see it amongst those awaiting a contract. As it was passed from one to another he proceeded. 'She is tall for a woman, as tall as most men. Finely built with porcelain skin, and blue eyes. She has brown hair-'_

_The locket reached her, a small portrait lay inside. A great beauty with the blue eyes, features and grace of her mother. SANSA! The distant voice grew louder, closer to the surface. Sansa is alive! It called, smashing through the stone wall built to keep it contained._

_'- though she is like to dye it red.' The Kindly Man went on as the locket made its way back around to him. 'Lord Baelish is certain she will carry out a plot to impersonate Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.' His eyes landed on No-one, focused all of his attentions on her. Like a hound trained to pick up on a scent, the Kindly Man would pick up on any sign of recognition. A widening of the eyes or pupils, a twitch or change in breathing. She schooled all of her features. Alayne Stone, she thought. Alayne Stone, she breathed in. Alayne Stone, she breathed out._

_'Lord Baelish has said his daughter often tried to convince him of her plan to claim Winterfell for their own. He would not consent, but assures that her resemblance is as strong as her cunning. He steadfastly advises to search for her there.'_

_Alayne Stone, she repeated inwardly, drowning out the voice that screamed Sansa Stark._

_'Who will give this woman the gift?' He asked._

_Alayne Stone._

_'I will give this woman the gift. I know her not.' She answered. His face gives nothing away, she watches him as she knows he is watching her. He nods and it is done. The contract, locket and pouch of coins are hers, as they move on to the next one._

Arya looks ahead to the land that lies before her, thinks of the home she hasn't seen in years, and prays that her sister will be there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late :(

 

Storm followed the path set by Arya and her horse with little to no direction from its rider. Gendry sat hunched in the saddle, aware of the relentless, stinging cold and little else. He was oblivious to the landscape rolling by, of the distance they had travelled, and though his stomach felt hollow he had no desire to eat.

All his life, Gendry felt the instinct to fight. He fought the older children who targeted the younger ones in Flea Bottom. Fought to protect himself, to make something of himself. The world and everyone in it _always_ seemed to be against him.

Except Arya.

He looked up to see her huddled beneath her cloak, riding only a few lengths ahead of him, but out of reach in every way. They would arrive at Winterfell within days, and it would all be over. She would be whisked away to live in a castle, while he would see out his days in the forge, _if_ he was lucky. If not, if they didn't want him, then what? Gendry had no idea what he would do, the Nights Watch wasn't even an option anymore.

For the first time in his life, Gendry felt like giving up the fight. Even without the distance between them, Arya was as good as lost to him. Losing her the last time had destroyed him in a way that nothing else had ever done before. She was his friend. The one person he cared for most in this world, but he let her down, and then she was gone.

For years, he thought about what he could have done differently to make her stay, what he would give to bring her back. Then out of nowhere, she returned to him. The girl she once was, and so much more; courageous, funny, beautiful and strong. _I love her._ He confessed to himself. _I love her, and this time there is nothing I can say or do to make her stay._

_***_

 

They stopped early at a small tumble down dwelling, the roof was mostly burnt away, the walls scorched but still intact. It would mean covering less distance for the day, but they could not pass up the opportunity of shelter for the night.

Arya tethered her horse to the same tree as Gendry's. 'Wait here.' he ordered, drawing his sword and preparing to see if anyone was inside the run down building.

'I will not.' Arya argued, drawing needle and pushing past him, earning an exasperated look from Gendry. _Wait here. Who in the bloody hells does he think he is?_ She neared the door, hanging from its frame, when Gendry came up alongside and blocked the way with his arm. He kicked the door in, then walked in pointing his sword to all corners of the small space.

'Satisfied?' Arya asked, leaning against the doorway. Gendry glowered, clearly anticipating further criticism. She knew deep down that he meant well, knew he was protective of her, and that she should be grateful for this gesture, but Arya had spent years protecting herself and was still reeling from the morning at the inn.

'Is it safe, Ser Gendry? Can the fair maiden enter?' she sneered.

'Why do you do that? Why do you make fun of me when I'm just trying to do the right thing?'

'The right thing?' She snapped. 'Taking over like some knight from a story, as if I can't look after myself?'

'I KNOW YOU CAN LOOK AFTER YOURSELF!' He yelled, startling Arya into silence. She sat on the edge of the small table, one of the few pieces left in what must have once been a home.

'I know -' Gendry spoke more calmly, coming toward her. '-that you don't need me. You don't _need_ anyone to look after you.' He put his hands on the table either side of her thighs and leaned in close. 'And while you don't have to worry about me for much longer, _someone,_ someday will want to take care of you. So you'd better get used to it.' He straightened up and walked out the door. _Much longer? What does he mean by that?_

_'_ Where are you going?' she called out, running after him.

'To get some firewood.'

'No, I mean what you said before, about not having to worry about you for much longer?' _Is he planning to leave me?_

He spoke, not to her but to the stick he'd picked up and now toyed with in his hands. 'When we get to Winterfell, you'll have whatever it is you came back for. Become the Lady of Winterfell and marry someday, and I'll do what?' He shook his head, 'Do you really think I'll just be able to stay, because I'm your friend?' Arya wished he would look at her. 'We both know that's not how it works, you'll -'

'My sister.' Arya interrupted. He looked up at that, his blue eyes questioning. 'Sansa. She's alive, that's why I came back. I have to believe she is at Winterfell.'

'Why didn't you tell me before?' He asked, hurt evident in his face and voice, she hated knowing that she put it there.

'It's...complicated.' How could she possibly explain? What could she say that wouldn't make him turn from her. 'I'm-' she started, looking around for inspiration.

'Hiding something.' Gendry finished for her.

Arya felt winded. She could handle it if Gendry was angry at her, she would just fire right back, meet him blow for blow. This time, what she saw looking back at her was one of the few things she did not know how to fight against - _disappointment_. It was the look her mother and Sansa would give, when she made no effort with her needlework or lessons. The look of her father when she and her sister would fight.

'I-' Arya took a shallow breath, images of the lives she'd taken flooded her vision. _How could he ever understand?_ She closed her eyes, hating herself for hurting him like this. 'I can't tell you.'

There was a deafening silence, then came the sound of leaves being crushed beneath Gendry's steps. She opened her eyes to watch him walk away, picking up firewood as he went. He wouldn't leave her tonight, but his trust was lost and without it, so too would she lose Gendry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting news reaches Winterfell.
> 
> Jon POV

 

Jon was in no great hurry as he searched for Sansa throughout the many rooms and halls of Winterfell. He took it all in as he went, every new door made to replace one that had been burned, the stonework, scrubbed free from soot, a tapestry here and there, gifts from Stark bannermen to replace those lost.

There was an immense feeling of accomplishment that came with the knowledge that it was by his hand that the northman and free folk worked side by side to restore Winterfell after the war. He removed the glove from his scarred hand and skated his fingers along the stone wall as he walked. Though his flesh would always bear the scars from plunging into the flames, those worn by this great castle were fading with time and the hard work of his people. _My people_ , Jon thought. _How far we've come._ The bone deep animosity between the free folk and northman, instilled from one generation to the next, was wiped out in their fight against a common enemy. They had integrated these past years, more alike than they realised, and rebuilt after the destruction. The north was becoming strong again. The war against the Others claimed many lives including an aunt he never knew he had. _Daenerys._ How strange to think of her as his aunt when they were of an age with one another. He knew her so briefly and then she was gone, and along with her the dragons, the Others, even the Wall itself.

 

It was in the kitchen he found them. The warm, sweet smell of pastries and cakes wafted down the hall as Sansa's squeals of delight danced atop the deep, muffled tones of Clegane's own laughter. The formidable man's face was buried in Sansa's neck as she giggled with her head fling back and a hand held aloft, cream and icing clinging to her fingers.

'Ahem.' Jon coughed, leaning against the doorframe amused. Clegane's face jerked away from Sansa revealing a smear of cream and icing down its middle. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his forearm as Sansa cleaned the mess from her neck still giggling. Jon pointed to the tray of lemoncakes and other small desserts, and laughed 'I'm glad to see you've saved some for the rest of us.'

Sandor sniggered, still looking a little shamefaced, then kissed Sansa's forehead with a large hand placed on her round belly. It was a remarkably sweet gesture from such a man, and Jon felt his own cheeks warm at having witnessed it.

'I'll leave you to your brother, little bird.' Sandor shook Jon's proffered hand, as Jon clapped him on the shoulder with the other. The large man's gaze was transfixed on the burnt hand held in his own. Jon supposed Sandor had never seen it without the glove before, but he hadn't thought to put it back on when he came upon the couple. Meeting Jon's eye, Sandor gave a small awkward nod before taking his leave.

'What do you suppose that was all about?' Jon asked, taking a seat on the bench beside Sansa who was arching and rubbing her lower back in a bid to ease the discomfort from her pregnancy.

'He has a great deal of respect for you.' She told him, taking his hand to trace the lines and folds of taut, twisted skin. 'I don't see his burns anymore. Only Sandor.' She said with a small smile. 'That doesn't mean they don't still torment him. Perhaps they always will.' She added sadly. ' I don't think he knew about your burns until just now, I hadn't told him and I doubt anyone else found the need.' She let go of his hand and looked at him intently. 'Having Sandor see that your scars do not burden you, gives me hope. Hope that someday he will grow to see himself as I do. - Oof!' She grimaced, putting her hands to her belly, Jon leapt to his feet.

'Is it time? Shall I call for a midwife?'

Sansa laughed, 'No. He just kicked is all. Quite hard, the rascal.' Jon sat down relieved and Sansa pressed his hand to her bump as they waited for the babe to move again.

'He? You believe it to be a boy then?'

'Just a feeling. I picture the babe looking like Sandor when it grows, with dark hair and grey eyes. Like father, and you and Arya.' She smiled bitter sweetly. 'Oh! Did you feel that?'

Jon looked down at his hand astonished at the abrupt movement beneath it. 'Yes. He does have a strong kick.' He chuckled taking his hand away. Jon imagined the small child just as Sansa described, but as a young girl. Running and leaping, getting into mischief. Saw himself messing her hair and catching her as she leapt into his arms. In his mind's eye, Jon saw Arya. It must have shown in his face, his longing, for Sansa spoke. 'She is coming home Jon. I am certain of it. Arya is coming home.'

Jon was less certain, but it was what he hoped and prayed for above all else. It reminded him of what he came to speak to Sansa about in the first place.

'Shireen Baratheon will journey to Winterfell also. Though not for some time.' Jon told her, thinking of the news the raven carried from Stannis. _Dark wings, dark words._

'The princess? But, why?'

'The King has confirmed by his own hand that he does indeed have greyscale.' he replied grimly. 'It took much of the poorer population of Kings Landing, in _Flea Bottom,_ the area is called.' Jon shook his head thinking of the poor souls. 'Stannis knew of one of Robert's bastards who had grown up there, a smith. Robert Arryn discovered him and brought Stannis to see him once before he died. With Shireen the only heir to the Baratheon line, and soon the throne, he had hoped to find the boy - or man now I guess, and legitimize him to grant the seat at Storms End.'

'I remember Flea Bottom, it was horrible. Did he find him?'

'No. He likely died, from any manner of things. Greyscale perhaps. That is where the King believes he encountered the disease.'

'How awful.' Sansa said, clearly touched. 'But if Shireen comes here -' she began, placing her hands protectively over her middle.

'No, she is immune. From a bout as when she was quite young. You'll have heard of her scars?' He asked, remembering the grey patches of skin that adorned the side of her face, when she came to the Wall.

'Yes.' Sansa answered. 'Still, why is she coming to Winterfell?'

'Stannis believes he will live a year or more before he is overcome. He wishes for Shireen to spend some time with us in the north, to learn the ways of our success with the free folk and our bannermen so that she may become a fair queen.'

'He wants her to learn from _you._ ' She beamed. 'Then she will become a great queen indeed.' Jon became embarrassed at the flattery, but it was short lived. A huge, black beast tore pass them, a boy with a shock of red hair followed behind and chased him around the large table in the middle of the room.

'Rickon!' Osha bellowed, bringing up the rear. She skidded to a halt in front of Jon and Sansa and huffed in indignation. The wild woman grabbed for a wooden spoon and brandished it at the boy and his direwolf. 'Out! Shaggydog.' The black wolf lowered his paws and head as if ready to play. 'OUT!' She yelled. The wolf bounded past her and through the doorway, Rickon made to follow but Osha caught him by his shirt collar. 'Not you boy, you need a wash.'

'No!' Rickon thrashed.

'Some lord you'll make when you grow up. Look like you've been crawling through the dirt and bushes after that animal o' yours again.' she chastised, marching him out of the kitchen.

'And what if I have?' Jon heard Rickon snarl from the hall. Both Jon and Sansa stifled their laughter behind their hands like two young children. Only it was a young child they hid their amusement from, not parents. Rickon would have a terrible tantrum if he knew they were laughing at his expense. A part of the boy would always be wild at heart, the events of his childhood had seen to that, and with a mother figure like Osha, it was undeniable. Yet, had there ever been a more loving child. Rickon loved Shaggydog as a brother, anyone could see that, but the boy lavished all with affection, always eager and generous with his warm hugs. For that too, Jon knew he had Osha to thank. As hard as she so often had to be, it was plain that she loved Rickon as her own. Jon could only imagine her reaction when he would tell her the news he was about to spring on Sansa. He bit back a smile at the thought.

'Stannis...wishes to make a match between Shireen and Rickon.'

'WHAT?!' Sansa shrieked.

'Well, not right now of course. When Rickon comes of age and I pass Winterfell onto him.' _Six years,_ he thought. _Six years to tame the savage wolf boy._ 'He wants to strengthen ties with the north through marriage. It looks like Rickon may someday become King.' He smirked handing Sansa one of the small cakes, as he bit into one himself.

'Bloody hells.' She replied, shocked. Jon nearly choked on his cake.

'The Sansa I knew would _never_ have said something so crude.'

Sansa sighed and tilted her head back, eyes closed. 'Sandor.' she said in explanation. 'She's a bit old for him, isn't she?' she added, as an afterthought. Jon lifted a shoulder.

'Six years older. There have been marriages made with larger age differences.' he answered, nudging her in the side.

'That's different.' Sansa exclaimed. 'Sandor _is_ older, but he is a man, it's just...it's just different.'

'Don't worry, nobody thinks anything of it, least of all me.' he said getting up to leave.

'Jon.' She called behind him. 'Here.' Sansa tossed him the last small cake. 'For Val.'

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	13. Chapter 13

 

When Gendry returned with enough wood and kindling for a decent fire, Arya was gone.

He let the pile fall in a heap on the floor and turned back out the door, not having noticed on his return whether there had been one horse or two grazing outside. _Two._ Gendry relaxed his shoulders, then strode over to Arya's horse, Syrio, and ran a hand over its neck in gratitude for not having whisked her away after their argument. _Not yet._ He prayed, brushing his hand over the beasts mane. _Don't take her away from me just yet. I'm not ready._

Would he ever be ready? That split second panic of thinking she'd left and that he'd never see her again, was a red hot steel blade, pulled fresh from the coals and plunged deep into his chest. _Where is she?_

Her satchel and bedroll were still inside, leaning against the far wall, but something _was_ missing. He turned on the spot, surveying the small room. Anguy's bow was gone, _she's just hunting._ He exhaled long and slow, dragging his fingers through his hair and down his face. 'She'll be the death of me. One way or another.' He groaned to himself, then set to making the fire.

***

Sunlight spilled through the gaps in the leaves overhead, illuminating sections on the forest floor below. The wind through the branches caused the little beacons of light to dance on the shadowed ground like so many fireflies. Arya though it beautiful.

It was quiet too, save for the occasional little bird chattering nearby. She had one rabbit hanging from her belt and was determined not to go back until she had another. One rabbit would do for two people her size, but a man as big as Gendry could finish off one or two on his own.

Arya kept the bowstring pulled taught, fingers ready to let the arrow fly at the first sign of a low flying bird or small animal. She fought to keep her mind clear of all except the hunt, but kept seeing Gendry's back walking away from her, and the wounded look he wore when he told her she was "hiding something." _I can't tell you Gendry._ She thought with remorse. _I can't tell you that I hunted and killed people like animals. I hunted people just like the gold cloaks hunted you._ She turned at a birds call in the distance. _Why did they want him?_ She wondered. It seemed like a lifetime ago, when sharing a rabbit leg between them was a banquet compared to the spoonful of soup the others got to eat.

_Crack!_ Arya spun at the sound of a twig snapping underfoot and loosed an arrow on instinct.

'Fuck!'

'Gendry?!' She screamed, dropping the bow and running to him so fast she couldn't stop in time and ended up ploughing straight into him. _How is he still standing?_

'Gendry...how...where?' She ran her hands over his chest, shoulders and arms rapidly, stopping at his wince when she reached his sides.

'You bloody shot me!' Gendry spat, lifting his shirt to see the damage.

'It just grazed you.' She corrected as relief flooded through her. _Gods, I could have killed him._ It was a minor wound, just a deep scratch about as long as her middle finger. It wouldn't need to be stitched - thankfully, her needlework hadn't improved with time, but it would need to be cleaned and bandaged. Arya wished she had some wine to pour on it. Not that it needed it, but it would have served to teach him a lesson.

'You stupid...bloody...stupid arse!' She cried, pushing him as hard as she could in the chest. Gendry staggered back, unprepared to be physically assaulted given she'd just shot an arrow at him a moment ago.

'Me?!' He countered. Arya pushed him again.

'What kind of IDIOT sneaks up on someone while they're hunting?' Gendry blocked her next hit, but she slapped that arm too.

'Well you were gone for so long and-'

She began pounding on his chest and arms, 'You stupid, STUPID BULL! I could have killed you!' Arya cried, pushing him so hard, Gendry fell to the ground. Arya turned to storm off, only to be tripped when he suddenly struck a leg out between hers. She hit the ground and rolled to the side to get up but Gendry was too quick, he pulled her upper arm back down to the ground so that she lay on her back, then straddled her to pin her down. Arya thrashed around trying to throw him off, but he was twice her size. He caught both her wrists as they came flying toward him, and held them to the ground above her head.

'Arya, STOP.' It was both an order and a plea. She bucked twice more and let out a choked sob. Exhausted, Arya had given up the fight. Transferring his weight to his knees so as not to squash her, Gendry released her wrists and brushed the hair out of her face. He was about to get up, about to let her go when he saw the tears fall from her tightly shut eyes, down her temples and into her sprawled hair. _She's crying._ Gendry didn't know what to do, he'd never seen her cry before.

'Arya?' He asked softly.

'I could...have...killed you.' Her words were strained through wracked breaths. Seeing her this upset made his own throat tighten painfully. Gendry held her face in both hands to thumb away the tears, and when she leaned her cheek into his touch, he thought his heart stopped.

Arya's lips were parted and swollen from crying, and it was without thinking, that Gendry finally leaned in to feel their touch against his own. The world seemed to fall away. There was no ground beneath them, no trees or sky above, in this moment there was only them. Her lips were soft and tasted of salt as she returned his kiss. He felt the gentle caress of her tongue on his lower lip and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, earning a soft sigh from Arya that made him grow hard. He broke away and stared down at her. _Seven hells, what am I doing?_ Grey eyes glistening and rimmed with red looked up at him questioning.

'I'm sorry Arya.' Gendry climbed off her and sat with his elbows resting on bent knees and hung his head. He could hear the crunch of leaves as she sat up behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder as she sat facing his side, tucking a foot beneath her other leg.

'Why are you sorry?' She asked hesitantly. 'Because kissing me made you...um-' She was uncharacteristically shy as she pointed to his lap.

'No!' He answered, shocked. _Gods, she felt it._ 'Well, yes but...I shouldn't have kissed you.' He admitted though he wished he could be doing just that, right now, and not stop for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah! Hope you liked it :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts are laid bare.

 

'I shouldn't have kissed you.' They were just words but they drained the warmth from her body and the air from her lungs. Arya looked away and drew her lower lip between her teeth, willing the feel of his warm lips on hers to linger.

_Shouldn't have_ , not _didn't want to_. Arya knew he wanted that kiss as much as she did. She'd dreamt of it, so many times, but never imagined that he would be the one to lean in first. It was the argument, it had to be. How could he trust her with his heart if she didn't trust him with her secrets. _I have no choice._ She decided. 'Gendry, I have to tell you something.' He looked to her with eyes so blue. 'Do you remember Jaqen H'ghar?'

 

As the storm clouds rolled in above, Arya told Gendry everything that had happened since the night the Hound found her. How she ended up in Braavos, finding the House of Black and White, what she became when she chose to stay. He hung off her every word, his concern replaced by alarm and disbelief when she reached the contract for _Alayne Stone._

'It was never my intention to follow through with it Gendry. Playing the part was the only chance I would have to try and protect Sansa.' Arya reached for his hands, pleading for him to understand.

'It's alright, Arya. I believe you, but what are you going to do when we get there?' He sat with his legs crossed, mirroring her and thread his large calloused fingers between hers. It felt comforting and surprisingly intimate for a thing so innocent as holding another's hands.

'I don't know what I'm going to do.' She admitted, though it grieved her to voice the fact out loud. He rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on the backs of her hands. 'We'll think of something.' He said, smiling at her reassuringly.

'We? You're not going to leave me.' She asked. He furrowed his brow and studied her face, then shook his head slowly, the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. She wanted to leap into his arms and kiss him soundly, instead Arya approached him as though he were a deer in the woods, worried how he would react now that he knew what she'd done. Looking up into his eyes for permission, Arya leaned toward him just as the heavens opened up and the rain poured down.

'Come on.' Gendry called over the thunderous racket, yanking Arya to her feet. They ran to the small house, and were soaked through by the time they got there. The trees were thicker here and kept most of the rain off the horses, sheltering the damaged roof enough that it was dry inside, save for one corner of the room where the water trickled in.

'Thank Gods you started the fire before you came looking for me.' Arya said shivering, removing her jerkin in front of the flames. She saw the fire reflected in his eyes before Gendry turned away. His shyness was as endearing as it was frustrating. She kicked off her boots as he rolled out the bedding. Watched as he kicked off his boots, facing away from her, then as his hand crept over his shoulder to pull his shirt over his head. She admired his muscled arms and back, crafted from years hammering at an anvil, as the firelight danced on his damp skin. _I want him_.

'I'm sorry about the arrow, I should bandage the cut.'

'It's fine. Not even bleeding anymore.' He answered without turning around.

'Gendry, look at me.' She coaxed softly. He didn't move. ' _Please_ , turn around.' He glanced at her over his shoulder then turned hesitantly. His eyes burned as they followed the lines of her body, her rain soaked clothes clung to her slight curves. Arya reached for the lacing of her shirt.

'Don't.'

'Why?' She asked, pulling the knot free. Gendry walked toward her and stilled her hands with his.

'You can't... _we can't-'_

'I want you Gendry, and...and I think you want me too.' She closed the gap between them, his hands still covering hers, the only thing stopping her from being able to touch him. He smelled of wood smoke, of the rain and grass outside, of that scent that was his alone. It was intoxicating. 'Don't you?' She asked unsure.

'Of course I want you.' He sighed. 'I've wanted you since you came back to me at the forge.' HIs voice was lower than usual, pained.

'Then nothing is stopping us from -'

' _We're s_ topping us, Arya.' He let go of her and stepped back. 'Who we are is what's stopping us.'

'I don't understand.'

'When we get to Winterfell, I'll still be _just_ Gendry. A bastard blacksmith, but you'll be Lady Arya Stark, if I ruin you -'

'You think taking my maidenhead is going to ruin me?' She cried out. 'You're so...ugghh!' Arya grabbed the hair at the top of her head in her fists, frustrated at not being able to put her feelings into better words. '- stupid, Gendry! Why do you have to be so stubborn, I'm -'

'I love you.'

He said it so simply, so honestly, it left Arya wanting to just exist in that moment with those words for all time.

'I can't tell you when I fell in love with you, Arya. It just feels like I always have. I have _never_ wanted anything more...than to be worthy of you.' He stepped forward and reached a hand out to tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, the drew his hand away reluctantly. 'But no amount of wanting, will change who I am. Don't you see that?'

Arya tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. 'My mother, my septa, _Sansa_ , they all tried to make me behave like a proper lady, so that when I grew up, a nice lord would be happy to have me as his wife. But that's not me, I was terrible at doing anything ladylike.' Gendry smiled half heartedly as though he could picture it. _He's probably remembering me in that stupid acorn dress._ She dared press her hands to his chest, wishing she could just kiss him until he knew her heart. 'You are the _only one_ who never wanted me to become anyone else. You let me be who I am, and liked me anyway.' Gendry closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. 'You're worried I'll be ruined if you take me to bed? You've ruined me already.' She tilted her head back, needing to see his face as she said the rest. 'Whether you bed me or not, I love you and I'll never love anyone else.'

Gendry brought his mouth down on hers, hard. He cupped the back of her head with one hand and ran the other around to her lower back drawing her body into his. Arya stretched up onto her toes needing more, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against him, feeling the warmth of his skin through her damp shirt. It wasn't enough. She needed the layers of clothing gone, needed to feel his skin against hers. She stepped back, breaking the kiss and reached for the hem of her shirt. Gendry stopped her hand and for a heartbreaking moment she thought he had changed his mind. Dropping to his knees before her, Gendry began to lift the fabric from her belly slowly, his hands skimming her sides, kissing her skin as it was revealed. She pulled the shirt off and cradled his head as he placed tender kisses to her small breasts. When he drew a nipple between his lips to gently lick and suck, Arya felt the most delicious ache between her thighs, and her legs felt weak. She lowered herself to her knees on the bedroll beneath them as his mouth explored the skin of her collarbone and neck, and breathed his name lifting his face to hers, kissing him urgently. Gendry held her to him with one arm at her back and lay them both down, trailing his lips along her jaw line and neck before returning to her mouth with hunger.

Clad only in their breaches, Arya rocked against Gendry's hardened length as he lay between her legs. He moaned into her mouth and pressed harder against her. Even with the layers of fabric between them, what they were doing felt incredible. Arya could feel that her small clothes had become damp as she rubbed herself harder and faster against his cock. Gendry stilled her with a hand at her hip.

'Gods, Arya. Slow down.' He panted, chest heaving as he raised his upper body above her. 'I've dreamt of this...so many times.' He said looking down at her with adoration. 'I don't want it to be over before we've even begun.' He admitted with an embarrassed smile, then bent to give her a small, chaste kiss. The fire crackled and hissed as the rain continued to fall in a steady, drumming rhythm outside. Arya drifted her hands along Gendry's back, exploring the definition as he raised himself to his knees with Arya straddling his lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her, his hands gently caressing and squeezing her breasts. She tilted her head back, encouraging his mouth to join his hands. The combination of his warm, wet mouth licking and sucking her breasts, as she ground herself slowly against him, made her crave him inside her. Lowering a hand between them, Arya untied Gendry's laces first and then her own.

He lay her down and while still kneeling, drew her breaches and small clothes over her hips and slid them down her legs, leaving her bare before him. As he stood above her, Arya wondered why it was said that bastards were the lustful ones, while it was a maidens duty to _endure_ the marriage bed. Laying there as naked as her nameday, watching Gendry undress, Arya felt as lustful as any bastard.

It was only upon seeing him completely undressed, that Arya became somewhat nervous. _He's big._ She shouldn't have been surprised, he was big everywhere else and she'd been rubbing herself against him just a moment ago. But _seeing_ what would soon be inside her, was a little unnerving. Subtly, Arya pressed her forefinger and middle finger together at her side in comparison. _He's not going to fit._ Gendry knelt at her feet and ran his hands up her calves looking uncertain. _He's just as nervous as I am._ Absurdly, that thought quelled her own nerves a little. She sat up and took is face in her hands feeling the short scruff beneath her thumbs.

'Are you sure?' He whispered against her lips.

'Yes.' She answered folding her hands behind his neck, and kissed him reverently. He lay her back down and Arya drew her legs up and planted her feet next to his thighs, positioning herself so that the smooth skin of his hardened cock lay pressed against her slick slit. They kissed slowly and deeply as Gendry's hand guided the tip of his cock to her opening. She expected it to hurt terribly, but as he eased inside her, Arya only felt the pressure of being stretched and filled so unfamiliarly.

'Are you alright?' He asked once fully sheathed within her. 'Did...did I hurt you?' He searched her face, bracing himself above her on his forearms. Arya couldn't help but give a small smile at his concern.

'No. I'm fine.' She reassured him. Gendry brushed the tip of his nose to hers then captured her lips once more. He withdrew almost all the way then began thrusting, slowly at first, but as Arya began rocking her hips against his the pace and intensity increased. Their skin was beaded with sweat from both the fire and their exertions. The slap of skin against skin beat out with the sound of the rain. His warm breath on her neck was becoming more rapid. _He's close._ Arya craved her release, and wasn't sure if Gendry would be able to keep going after he reached his. She knew she could bring herself to orgasm very quickly, and slipped her hand between them, wondering if he would notice. She began rubbing the tips of two fingers in small circles against her clit, and felt his tongue and lips leave her neck, his chest lift from hers and his movements slow though he didn't stop entirely. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her hand at their juncture. She moved her hand away, only to have Gendry take her hand and press her fingers back there. His eyes flickered from her face to where they were joined and began thrusting hard. She rubbed her fingers round in tight circles, amazed that he found it so arousing, and began lifting her hips in time with his. Gendry groaned deep in his throat as he brought his mouth to her breast, and one hand down to replace hers. She guided his fingers, too hard and fast at first, but he soon figured out how she liked it.

Arya's thighs began to quiver as her climax built. She fisted her hands in the bedding and whimpered between breaths as her orgasm took her. A wave of indescribably pleasure flooded her senses, the sweetest oblivion akin to the stomach dropping sensation of butterflies in her stomach one hundred times over, rippled through her from where they were still joined. Gendry made a sound that may have been her name as he thrust one, two, three more times before stilling and collapsing over her. They lay that way for a moment, hot and sweaty, sticky and completely sated, before Gendry eased out of her and rolled onto his back, drawing Arya into his side. As he pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead, Arya whispered 'I love you.' She felt his lips curl into a small smile against her skin, then heard him say 'I love you too.'

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I've been really nervous about that chapter.  
> This fan fic is the first thing I've ever written, so it goes without saying that, that was my first fan fucktion.  
> I hope it was ok.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend listening to 'Cherry Wine' by Hozier first. (sorry, I couldn't figure out how to do the link thing)
> 
> Every time I hear it, all I can think is, this is how Gendry feels about Arya.  
> It goes really well with the start of this chapter, and I borrowed a line that you might spot toward the end of it ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

 

The early morning sun bathed the freshly washed world outside in vibrant shades of green. Leaves shone in emerald and olive, while the forest floor glistened mint with frost. Birds flitted to and fro, trilling and chirping with delight at the brand new day. _She loves me._ Gendry sat captivated by the beauty that lay beside him. Enthralled by her tousled dark brown hair, sprawled wild around her, by the black of her lashes, feathered against her fair skin, and the rosy pink hue of her lips and cheeks, warm from slumber. Entranced by the rise and fall of her chest as she lay suspended in unburdened, heavy sleep. Gendry had never known such happiness. _She loves me._

 

He was dressing by the time she woke. 'You snored.' He taunted, grinning like a fool.

Arya rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up holding the blanket to her chest. 'I did not. Yousnore _all_ the time.' She looked up at him with mock irritation, a look that quickly transformed into a drowsy smile upon her lips and a mischievous glint in her eye that told him his next move would be redundant. Gendry unrumpled the balled up shirt in his hands and raised his arms into the sleeves, hoping Arya would soon take it back off him.

'Gendry.' Her voice called. _Yes!_ Gendry smiled into the fabric before pulling it back off his head.

'You're bleeding.' Arya pointed to his side.

'Huh?' Gendry looked. It was dried blood from the arrow wound, a little more than had been there when they came in from the rain last night. 'It must have opened up again when...um, while...well, last night.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' Arya scolded, slipping on her shirt which hung to her thighs, then pressing her fingers lightly around the cut to look at it. Her soft little hands were warm on his skin, and as she bent her head to his chest examining, he breathed her in.

'I didn't notice at the time.' He answered distracted and hushed against her hair. He wanted her again. Arya's head lifted slowly at his words, eyes dark and grey peering from heavy lids.

'I need to bandage it.' Her voice was a sigh as her face drew nearer to his and her eyes focused on his mouth.

'I know.' He breathed, leaning lower to taste her lips.

'I...really...should...bandage it.' Arya uttered between kisses.

'No...you don't...I'm alright now.' Gendry tried to dissuade her, as his lips moved to her neck and earlobe. He wanted to kiss every inch of her. Arya giggled and scrunched her shoulder to her ear, it was a rare and wonderful sound, he would have to remember she was ticklish there. Gendry lifted her chin with thumb and forefinger, it would have to wait. 'Well go on then, fix me up.' He watched as she hunted around in her satchel, bringing out a small pouch. She sat it beside him and fished out a little knife and fold of cloth. Nicking a section here and there, Arya began tearing it into strips. She poured water from the skin onto a smaller piece plucked from the pouch and started cleaning away the dried blood.

'Ow! Why do you have to be so rough?' He exaggerated, enjoying the unfamiliar territory of being taken care of.

'Stop whinging, you deserve it.' She said bending to blow softly on the cut. It stung at first, but then the cooling air felt good. Too good. He wished she would hurry. Spying the little pouch beside him, Gendry rummaged through it as she wrapped the cloth strips around his middle.

'Were you planning on bleeding a lot or something?' Gendry held up a handful of small folds of the same cloth. Arya looked up at what he was holding and appeared concerned all of a sudden.

'Hopefully.' She mumbled.

'Huh?'

'Those are for my moon blood, Gendry.' She told him. He let them fall from his fingers, which made her roll her eyes. 'They're clean, you idiot.'

 _Hang on, why did she say hopefully?_ 'Why did you say hopefully - oh gods!' _What have I done?_ Gendry felt sick. 'How do we know if -' He asked.

Arya shook her head. 'We just have to wait. It last ended at the inn, how long have we been travelling?' She made a knot in the bandage.

'I haven't counted.' He answered quickly and wide eyed.

'Well, was it a quarter moon last night?'

'Again, I was somewhat distracted.' He could hear the panic in his own voice. _What if I've put a bastard in her belly?_ He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, his mind awash with his worst fears.

'We'll know...soon, I guess. The quarter moon must be near.' Arya's voice was tentative and barely above a whisper. Gendry wasn't sure if she was frightened or upset at his reaction.

'Arya.' He offered apologetically, smoothing her hair from her crestfallen face. 'I'm sorry. It's...it's my fault. You know how I feel about -' He pressed his lips to the top of her head, unable to voice the rest.

'I know.' Arya was still as stone as she spoke. 'And it's not your fault, I wasn't thinking either. I do not regret it.' She looked up at him. 'But if there is a babe?' She asked.

He traced a thumb along her sharp cheekbone and along her jaw. 'Then I hope it looks like you.' He tilted her head back to place a soft kiss to her lips, then lifted her to her feet so that she stood as he sat, and pressed a tender kiss to her belly.

***

Two days came and went before they had their answer. Two days spent riding long and hard in the saddle. Two nights spent in warm embrace, going no further than the touch of yearning lips and curious hands. Arya's courses began the morning of the third day. For now, a child was not meant to be. The relief they shared mingled with the tinge of regret they both felt. _Someday,_ they whispered quietly. _Someday,_ they prayed, when the future was more certain.

Their abstinence, initially borne of caution, continued by necessity. While blood in general didn't bother Arya, she found the idea of lovemaking while she bled, appalling. There was also the matter of prevention to be considered. Arya wished she knew what those damned tansy flowers looked like should she stumble upon them. _It could be anyone of these blasted weeds._ She thought miserably, kicking the shrubs and flowers underfoot where they'd stopped to feed and water the horses. Having brushed the horses down, Gendry sat on the ground to rest as the beasts ate.

'I'm just going to stretch my legs.' Arya told him.

'Be careful.' He cautioned, pulling up stalks of the plants around him.

The sun was pleasantly warm on her face as she walked, though the air was still quite chilled. Nymeria set off in pursuit of small prey as was her routine, she never ventured far and Arya knew if she called out, the direwolf would return. Small red leaves dotting the forest floor here and there caught her attention, they blew in swirling on the breeze and Arya followed. _It can't be._ And yet it was. A weirwood tree. The face carved in the trunk looked at her with an expression of joyful sorrow, as if it too, longed to see her. _I'm home._ Arya's heart felt fit to burst, for the first time she felt as though she'd truly arrived in the north. The branches overhead swayed and blood red leaves spun around her, she reached her hand out to the face and swore she heard the wind call her name. She remembered running and climbing in the godswood back home, and Bran only three or four at them time, calling for her to come out of hiding.

The feel of something scratchy resting on her head brought her back to the present. She put her hand to it and turned, finding Gendry admiring her. 'So this is where you wandered off to.' Arya pulled the thing from her head and found it was a crude, misshapen wreath, haphazard and made up of the flowers and weeds that lay where she left Gendry. It was scattered here and there with winter roses, and though it was nothing like the dainty and precise flower crowns that Sansa and Jeyne used to make, it was beautiful.

'I didn't know there were blue roses.'

'They only grow in the north.' Arya cradled it in her hands, basking in the joy that she felt. She was so close to Winterfell, she had a heart tree at her back, winter roses in her hands, and Gendry. She realised it was Gendry above all else that felt like home. He took the wreath from her hands, careful not to crush it.

'When I started out at the smithy, I would sneak off with one of the swords when Tobho wasn't looking. I'd swing it around and stab at the air playing at being a knight in one of the king's tourneys.' Arya smiled at the vision he created. 'When I played, _I_ was always the champion.' He grinned. 'They would give me lots of gold and a crown of flowers for the queen of love and beauty. Of course, in my fantasy I'd always toss the crown over my shoulder or put it on a horse or something like that, then run off to live like a king with all my hard earned gold.' Arya laughed, wishing she had known him back then.

'Now, I think I'd throw the gold over my shoulder and win just to give you this.' He placed the crown on her head and kissed her. And how she loved him then. All the silly women of the world could have their childish fantasies, their princes and knights, their Rhaegars and Florians, but none could have Gendry. _He's mine._

'Marry me.' She told him the moment her lips left his.

'What?' He chuckled.

'I said marry me, stupid.'

'You mean it?'

She could see the smile he was trying to contain. 'Of course I mean it. That is, if you'll have me.' She said, smiling back.

' _If_ I'll have you? Arya -' he curled his arm around her lower back and pulled her in close, 'I was going to ask you when we reached Winterfell. Must you always beat me to everything?'

She stood on her toes and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down a little so that her lips grazed his. 'Yes, now give me your cloak.'

'NOW?!' He cried, taken aback. 'You don't want to wait until you are with your sister and your brother, your family?'

She kept her arms around him. 'You're my family. I love you Gendry, and I don't want to live one more day as anything less than your wife.' Gendry reached behind his neck to take her hands, bringing them to his lips, his eyes closed as he placed a kiss to her fingers. She watched as his eyes shut tighter and his brow furrowed, then felt the warm air of his shaky breath on her skin when his lips parted and he exhaled. He opened his eyes and mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. The lump in his throat bobbed up and down as though he swallowed hard, and then he nodded his acceptance, unable to get the words out. Arya wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest as he hugged her back. He found his voice, it was a whisper against her hair when he asked, 'So, how do we do this?'

 

Arya couldn't recall the exact words of a northern wedding ceremony, but it didn't matter. An oath sworn to one another in front of a heart tree and his cloak around her shoulders was all that she needed. They stood facing each other, the carved face in the weirwood serving as their witness. Blood red leaves drifted down and swirled around them, as the world beyond the leaves of the heart tree disappeared.

With the crown still adorning her head, Gendry unclasped her cloak and drew it from her shoulders, hanging it over his forearm. Without taking his eyes off hers, he untied his own larger cloak and swept it around her, the bottom of it pooled at her feet as they said all they needed to say.

'I am yours, and you are mine.' Arya vowed.

'I am yours, and you are mine.' Gendry answered, taking her face in his hands and her lips with his own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry reach Winterfell (at last)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alternates between Gendry's POV and Jon's POV, then back to Gendry's POV as indicated by the usual  
>  ***   
> in between :)

 

The town they passed through lay mostly deserted. Only a few chimneys billowed with smoke. Here and there small children would run and play, a donkey would haw or a man or woman would look up from their task to watch the two strangers and great wolf go by. _Winter Town,_ Arya informed him, was scarcely inhabited during the summer or spring, but come winter it would be alive with people. The empty market square would be bustling with stalls, merchants and smallfolk.

His mind went to another town which lay outside the walls of a great castle. A town as overcrowded as this one was empty. And while the cool air here had that crisp, clean smell of cold, the air in Flea Bottom smelled year round of stables, winesinks and every kind of filth. He once thought he'd live and die there. Finish his apprenticeship and see out his days as a smith in that putrid place.

Gendry looked across at Arya, riding alongside him. He resented Tobho Mott for his being sent to the wall back then. Cursed the gods for his ill lot in life. _I'd never have met her though._ He mused, grateful for all of it. Arya noticed him looking and gave a smile before returning her gaze to what lay ahead.

 

Winterfell's massive granite walls loomed before them. Standing in its shadow, he felt small and insignificant, craning his neck to look up at the towers and turrets. _This was Arya's home._ He marvelled. _She was born here, and grew up here before I met her._ He'd known this since soon after meeting her, imagined time and time again, what it would have been like for her growing up in a castle, but seeingWinterfell in all its glory left him awed and intimidated in a way that even his imagination couldn't manage.

They slid from their saddles and stood side by side. Gendry felt Arya's fingers entwine with his. He looked to find her staring up at the stone walls with an expression that hit him like a punch to the gut. Fear. Not the fear of what their class differences would mean on the other side of that gate, but of who and what she may or may not find inside.

'Hey.' He stepped in front of her, taking her other hand in his, not knowing what he could possibly say to ease her. Her hands were ungloved and cold, he rubbed them between his trying to bring her warmth. He cupped them to his mouth and blew, they were so soft and small. 'Blacksmiths hands.' He chuckled to himself, bewildered.

'What?'

'You once told me that someone said you had the hands of a blacksmith.' He reminded her, pleased to see some of the tension leave her face. 'Well now you do. You have my hands, my sword, my hammer. My body, my heart, my soul, all of it, it's yours. Whatever you face in there, I will face it with you. Side by side, you and me Arya, always.' He leaned down to be at eye level with her, searching for a sign that she understood. Arya pressed a kiss to his hands, still engulfing hers and gave a small nod.

Leading the horses on foot, with Nymeria at Arya's side they approached the sentries.

***

 

Jon's ledgers and unanswered correspondence lay on his desk before him demanding his attention. Every effort he made to calculate an entry for the stores, or reply to a missive from one of the Stark bannermen was wasted as he couldn't seem to focus on anything but the sight on the floor by the fire. Val lay reclined, her head resting on Ghost's belly as he sprawled in front of the flames. Her honey blonde hair like silk against the stark white of Ghost's fur. Val too, was clad all in white, from her woollen breaches to her tunic. What a pair they made.

A sharp knock on the solar door caused Ghost to jump to his feet, and subsequently, Val's head to hit the floor. She sat up making a 'tsss' sound and rubbed the back of her head.

'Are you alright?' Jon couldn't help but laugh, though he truly was concerned. She rolled her eyes.

'Yes. You better see what they want.'

'Come in.' He called.

Brienne walked in, tall and head held high. 'My lord, one of the men at the east gate has sent word that two travellers wish to enter. One of them claims to be Arya.' She advised. Something in those eyes that he had to admit were rather _remarkable_ , as Jaime put it once while in his cups, hinted at unease perhaps or anticipation.

Jon stood up from his seat. 'Two travellers?'

'Yes, my lord. He said there was a man with her, also a wolf as large as yours.'

***

 

Gendry's hands felt clammy as he held onto Arya's like an anchor. After a nerve wracking wait they were permitted entry, and he could hear the clang of steel against steel as they led their horses through to the training yard. The ghost of the man who haunted his dreams brought Gendry to a halt. Arya too, stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a man, far larger than most and with the unmistakable burns of the Hound, blocking a sword swung by a tall young boy with wild red hair.

'You're - you're not dead.' Arya said in disbelief. Her voice caught their attention, and the boy looked at them puzzled as a hooded stableboy took the reins of the horses and led them away.

'Not yet.' The Hound answered, pointing to the fine sword at her side. 'Don't tell me you've come all this way to finish me off.' His gravelled laughter rumbled through him, Gendry wanted to pummel that hideous smirk right off his face. _He was trying to return me to my family._ Arya's words came to him, battling his intense desire for vengeance against the man who stole her from him years ago. The man's laughter died down as he took notice of the look on Gendry's face. 'Go get Sansa.' He told the boy, with a gentle scruff to his hair.

Arya stepped and reached toward him as he ran off. 'Rickon.' She cried softly. A black wolf even larger than Nymeria crept from the shadows, it glanced quickly at the boy running away, then turned back to them. It's heckles were up and it sniffed the air, stalking closer. Gendry heard a deep growl escape Nymeria's throat as she stepped out from behind them and inched closer to the other direwolf. Gendry put his arm across Arya, barring her from going after Nymeria. As they watched them circle and sniff, he thought they were going to kill each other and was completely gobsmacked when instead they began to play. Arya brought her hands to her mouth, 'Shaggydog.' She breathed.

'The little wolf's got herself a big wolf I see.' The Hound said, stepping closer and looking Arya over from head to toe. 'It really is you.' He made a face that was hard to read with the skin pulled tight on one side. Astonishment definitely, but Gendry wondered if he also saw a hint of relief in there as well. 'So, am I still on that list of yours?'

Arya grinned, amused and shook her head. 'No.'

'Don't be so sure.' A blonde man called out, walking alongside a heavily pregnant, but beautiful red haired woman and the boy that was clearly her brother. 'Just wait until you find out he's fucking your sister.' He added with a smug grin, earning a horrified look from the pregnant woman.

'Jaime!' She cried out.

'Shut your cunt mouth Lannister!' The Hound bellowed.

'Sandor!' She fumed.

Gendry snorted and feigned a coughing fit as Arya called out 'Sansa', leaving his side to run to her sister. He watched them embrace a little awkwardly, whether due to the bump between them or the years. Jaime left the women to their joyous reunion and joined the men. They watched Arya and Sansa take in one another's appearance, hands touching each other's face and hair as if to make sure the other was really there. Arya hesitantly put her hands to Sansa's bulging belly, and as Sansa spoke softly and too far away for the men to hear, Arya's head turned back to look in their direction, mouth agape, and face screwed up in disbelief.

The Hound huffed, Gendry looked up at him and found the man watching the scene intently. Sansa was still talking to Arya, but her eyes were fixed on the tall man at Gendry's side, and his on hers as she smiled at him lovingly. _Oh._ Gendry realised, wishing could hear Arya's thoughts on the matter. He let out a small laugh that didn't go unnoticed.

'And who are you, boy?' The scarred man snarled. Jaime turned to look at him as well, first taking in his build and then his face, he seemed rather perplexed.

'Boy?' Gendry was livid. 'I'm a man grown and not so much shorter than even you.' Gendry held his head high and stood his ground.

'I can see that.' The Hound looked him over with a similar baffled expression as the other man. _Why does everyone look at me like I've got two heads?_

'Who was your father?' Jaime asked, raising an arm that ended in a stump, to rub the back of his blonde head.

'Why does everyone always ask me that?'

'GENDRY!' An incredibly tall woman called out, coming toward them alongside a man wearing black from head to toe, a woman in all white, and yet another direwolf between them, this one as white as snow and with red eyes. It was a bizarre sight, and as the tall woman came running toward him he recognised her.

'The woman knight.' He said under his breath.

'Gendry!' She called again, and now all eyes were on him.

'Well bugger me.' Said the Hound, looking at him this time as if he were the ghost.

'I'd rather not.' Replied Gendry, causing an uproar of laughter and hearty slaps on the back from both men.

The woman knight came to a stop in front of him. 'My gods, it really is you.'


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's POV of some of last chapter, plus a little of what happened after.

 

_It isn't possible._ She'd left him for dead by a tree at the Trident, but there was no mistaking the man that stood before her now, playing at swords with a young boy.

'You're - you're not dead.' Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. The two stopped at the sound and turned. Her astonishment at seeing Sandor Clegane, seemingly risen from the dead, abated as her attentions were drawn to the boy he had been teaching. Almost as tall as herself now, his wonderfully unruly red hair and blue eyes reminded her of their mother and sister. _Rickon._

She was frozen in place at seeing him after so many years, and didn't even notice the reins slip from her fingers. Clegane's voice sounded nearby but her mind couldn't grasp the words, she was paralysed by the sight of her youngest brother looking back at her with eyes so unsure. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go, if only she could move. A hand, large, strong and battle worn ruffled Rickon's fiery locks with tender affection, sending him running from her.

'Rickon.' She said softly, wanting to run after him. Nymeria's growl alerted her to danger, and Arya's gaze was torn from her fleeing brother to a magnificent black direwolf heading slowly toward them. The two wolves inspected one another, sniffing until certain and then they began to pounce and play like the pups they once were together. 'Shaggydog.'

It seemed almost a dream, though not the kind she was used to. _Her_ dreams usually wrenched her from her sleep, ghastly visions of those she loved being torn from her, of blood and great swords and pain. Sometimes the swords were instead terrible, long sharp teeth, and it was the blood she craved as she ran through the woods, the scent of her prey filling her nose and gnawing at her belly. She would wake from those dreams, so vivid and almost tangible, shaking and praying that the next time she slept she would see all of those she lost and hold them tightly, never wanting to wake up. To finally have that and in her waking hours seemed unthinkable, as though they would all disappear at any given moment.

'The little wolf's got herself a big wolf I see.' Clegane sounded different somehow after all these years. It wasn't the bitter growl of the man that she remembered. 'It really is you.' Though still deep and gruff, there was a softness to his voice that wasn't there before. There was something in his expression as well, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. The way his brow lifted in the middle as opposed to the scowl that she once assumed had been burnt into his face along with those terrible scars. Whatever it was, for that short moment she could have sworn he looked as though he cared for her.

'So, am I still on that list of yours?' He asked overly loud and with the snarky indifference she remembered. _You do care, you cranky old bastard._

'No.' She shook her head, smiling.

'Don't be so sure.' An amused voice called. Arya turned to see it had been Jaime Lannister of all people. _What is he doing here?_ The thought evaporated from her mind when she saw the women walking beside him. _Sansa._ Arya felt as though she were under water, the world seemed to slow down and the rushing blood of her pulse in her ears drowned out all that was being said around her.

'Sansa.' She cried, running to the sister she hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime ago. Rickon held Sansa's hand, still wary when Arya reached them. Both women had tears in their eyes as they extended their hands hesitantly as if one touch would cause the other to burst like a bubble and disappear.

'You're here.' Arya managed a whisper.

'Arya.' Sansa sobbed, pulling her in for a careful embrace. Arya stepped back from the obstruction and gingerly put her hands to Sansa's round belly.

'A child?' It was a silly and needless question, but it was all too much, being at Winterfell with Rickon, Shaggydog, and Sansa soon to become a mother. So much to take in all at once. Arya watched Sansa rub her fingers delicately over the top of her bump. 'Sansa, who is your child's father?' She asked praying to all the gods that it wasn't Jaime Lannister, though he had been at her side just now. Sansa looked past Arya's shoulder and smiled sweetly. 'Sandor.'

'What?!' Arya couldn't possibly have heard that correctly, she looked back to find the three men standing together, Sandor holding Sansa's gaze. _Seven hells._

'I'm going to be an uncle.' Rickon boasted. Arya smiled and grazed his cheek with the back of her fingers.

'Rickon, do you remember Arya? Our sister?' Sansa asked cautiously. Rickon looked at her, searching what few memories he had from that young age. Arya's heart sank. _He doesn't remember me._ What he must have been through all this time. She wondered how he managed to survive. And if he was here, whatever became of Bran?

'You were smaller then.' He told her, then wrapped his arms around her in a fierce embrace. She held him tightly, rest her cheek on the top of his head, and gave Sansa a relieved smile.

'At first, he thought I was mother when we arrived here.' Sansa looked upon their young brother with pity.

'GENDRY!'

Arya whipped around and the sight that greeted her stole her breath and drew the tears from her eyes. _Jon._ She wanted to scream his name bit her voice wouldn't come, it was lodged painfully in her throat as the tears streamed down. Seeing him here, on top of everything else, was more than she could take. He was flanked by two women, one remarkably tall who screamed Gendry's name again as she ran toward him, and the other dressed all in white, walking beside a white direwolf. The largest that remained of the pack, she knew it straight away to be Ghost. Jon met her halfway as she ran and leapt into his arms. He held her aloft as Arya clung tight around his neck and cried endlessly.

 

Spent and weary, Arya wiped her cheeks and nose with her sleeve.

'That's not very ladylike.' Sansa commented. The laughter burst from Arya, hysterically. She looked over to the spot where Gendry and the others were standing, a very serious conversation now taking place. Gendry appeared unwell as the tall woman spoke to him, Sandor and Jaime were listening and occasionally nodding, the latter looking a little uncomfortable himself.

_He's told them about the contract for Sansa._ She realised. Gendry's eyes were focused on her as the others continued to talk. Arya reached to her neck for the locket. 'Sansa, I have to tell -' The locket wasn't there. _The saddle bag._ She put it there the morning after their night in the small old house. 'I'll be right back.' She called behind her as she headed for the stables.

Arya walked the rows, horse after horse until she spotted hers. The stableboy's hooded cloak was pulled low over his face as he brushed down the horses coat.

'Sorry, I just have to get something.' She apologised, going for the bag. He answered silently with a nod and continued brushing. It wasn't there. She heard the clink of the chain and turned slowly to see a white lock of hair fall from the hood as he pulled the locket out from his sleeve.

'A girl should not forget such things.'


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's faceless past has come back to haunt her, sooner than she had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, these last few chapters have been painful to write...literally, I injured the tendon in my wrist :(

 

The locket swung on the end of the chain, to and fro, taunting her. The man's other hand went to his hood, pushing it back to reveal a familiar face framed by hair coloured red on one side and white on the other. It was a face she had not seen since he gave her an iron coin and the two words that would somehow lead her on the journey that brought her back to Winterfell.

'Jaqen.' Her voice was confident and relaxed, as though meeting him here and now was of no consequence. He inclined his head in a polite bow, and Arya wondered who's face he had been wearing the day she was given that locket.

'A man travels faster alone.' Jaqen said, continuing his task of brushing down her horse. 'Yet a girl chooses to bring company.' He was polite and conversational, but the threat was clear.

'Gendry has no part in this.' What fatigue Arya felt earlier was long gone. Adrenaline surged through her, and the need to fight, to protect became her driving force. She observed him knowing there would be a sword or dagger beneath his cloak. She stretched her fingers, needle was threaded through her belt at her side, and she could draw it faster than he could drop the necklace or brush.

He knew that too, of course. He had all her training, and many more years experience putting it into practice. He also had his additional height and reach on his side. There was no denying who would win should she draw her sword, but Arya swore that by her dying breath, Jaqen would not be left a threat to her family.

'A man remembers this Gendry. Arya Stark, remembers him also.' He turned his eyes to her, daring her to deny it. Arya said nothing, but held his gaze, ready and waiting. 'This is a fine horse.' He told her, moving to groom it's mane. 'What is it named?'

'Syrio.' She answered. Jaqen smiled to himself. She wondered why he was delaying, was all this pleasantry an attempt to unnerve her? If he arrived here first, expecting her to fail, why not kill Sansa himself? Done with waiting, she grabbed needle's hilt and pulled it from her belt.

'I see your face sweet girl.' He said facing her, making no attempt to produce any weapon other than the locket and brush. 'Arya Stark is not faceless.'

Arya kept needle aimed squarely at his chest and wondered what he was playing at. 'Why did you come? You must have left for Winterfell the same time as I.' Her eyes narrowed on him, deliberating. 'I was expected to fail...wasn't I?' The man did not deny it. All at once it became clear why the contract for Alayne had fallen to her so easily. 'It was a test wasn't it?' This...whole thing, was a test. There was no contract.'

'No sweet girl. A name was given to the God of Many Faces. For you to give the gift, was the test.'

His words left Arya feeling enraged, confused, but worst of all - betrayed. 'So you have been sent to kill me for failing, and to give Sansa the gift yourself.'

'A man cannot give the gift to those whose names have not been given. Alayne Stone, is the only name offered to the God of Many Faces.'

'But she does not exist.'

'Just so.'

'So the contract does not exist.' She said.

Jaqen nodded. 'The Many Faced God has his due. This girl must give a name.'

Arya smiled knowingly, lowered needle and fetched the remaining coins from her bag. Pressing the pouch into his palm, she whispered into his ear.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get sappy :)

 

Sansa laboured through the night and well into the next day. With Sandor and Sansa having said their vows in the godswood the evening Arya and Gendry arrived, the babe decided it had waited long enough. It was everyone else's turn to wait as Sansa moaned and screamed behind her chamber door.

Arya learnt of Gendry's parentage on her return from the stable, and was surprised to find that that had been the subject of discussion when she had been standing with Jon and the others in the yard. The look on Gendry's face that day, had frequented him many times since. Arya too, found the whole matter overwhelming, and knew it would take some time for Gendry to completely come to terms with the fact that he is Robert Baratheon's bastard. To soon be legitimized by the king, an uncle he never knew he had, and visited shortly by a cousin, who would someday soon become queen. It was decided that Arya and Gendry would stay at Winterfell until and during Shireen's stay, then accompany her to Storms End, the seat of House Baratheon which would be granted to Gendry if the king stays true to his word. The ravens had been sent with word of his discovery, vouched for by both Brienne and Jon, and to be confirmed by Shireen whom they were certain would see the resemblance clearly. Arya had seen Robert Baratheon at Kings Landing, but thought nothing of him other than the fact that he was a fat drunkard, and through her nine year old eyes - stupid.

W _ell, they do have that in common I suppose._ Arya smiled to herself and held Gendry's hand tight, as Sansa bellowed again. She was adamant that if there were any moon tea within the grounds of Winterfell she would search high and low fir it. A blessing, children may be, but if it meant screaming in pain for as long as her sister had been, then children could wait a few years. Gendry held her hand just as tightly, looking as terrified as she felt. They looked up as Sandor made his way past once again.

'You're wearing a trench in the stone floor.' Arya told him, trying to lighten the mood. The man just glared, eyes wild with fear. It had taken four people to hold him back from entering the room when Sansa first started wailing. Jon, Jaime, Brienne and Gendry all jumped from their places; leaning against walls, or sitting on the benches, to pull him back from the door. He looked ready to do it again, but then the noise stopped, and was replaced by the high pitched cry of a newly born babe. Arya thought it sounded like a cat whose tail she once tread on.

Sandor stopped pacing immediately, hesitated for just a moment before turning the door handle and disappearing inside. Arya smiled at Rickon who sat by her, and wrapped her arm around him. Whenever he wasn't running after his wolf, he was by her side, begging for stories of adventure and telling her plenty of his own. She thought he had a vivid imagination at first, but upon befriending Osha, she soon learnt many, if not all, were true.

Val came out soon after, wiping blood from her hands and arms, looking quite drained herself. 'They have a daughter.' She announced, smiling. Turning to Arya and Rickon, she advised that mother and daughter were both well. As she wiped the sweat from her brow, Jon embraced her, blood and all, and kissed her soundly. ' _You -_ are amazing.' His voice full of love and admiration.

'Can we see her?' Arya asked.

'Soon. Let's give them some time alone with their child first.'

 

When the door opened at last, Sandor stood almost filling the doorway, bewitched by the tiny bundle cradled in his arms. He looked up at the group gathered in the hall, his grey eyes soft with wonder. 'She's beautiful.' He whispered, not wanting to wake her. 'She looks like her mother.' Sandor added, looking back at Sansa laying in her bed. As he backed out of the doorway Rickon raced in, impatient from waiting. Jon slipped in after him and put a hand to his shoulder to slow the boy down.

'We'll wait here.' Jaime told them, taking a seat beside Brienne and Val.

'I should stay out here as well.' Gendry said, slipping his hand from Arya's.

'Why?'

'Well, you know...just...family.'

Arya groaned and rolled her eyes, reclaiming his hand and pulling him in after her. Sansa looked exhausted, but lovely. Blissfully euphoric and entirely smitten as Sandor placed the babe back in her arms and a kiss to her brow.

'We've named her Catelyn.' She told them, not minding as Rickon climbed onto the bed for a closer look. 'Catelyn Clegane.'

'She's so small.' Rickon gasped, fascinated. He reached a hand to the soft auburn down that dusted her head.

'Gentle sweetling.' Sansa warned.

'She's beautiful, Sansa.' Arya said. 'May I hold her?'

'Of course. Rickon, hop down now, please. Let Arya meet her niece.' Sansa asked. Rickon did as he was bid, and went to stand by Jon. It was perhaps the best behaved he'd been since they arrived. Sansa lifted Catelyn to Arya's waiting arms, and rested back against the pillows, understandably tired. The child let out a small, irritable cry at having been moved.

'Shhh...hush now little cat.' Arya sang softly, patting the small bundles bottom. She looked up when Sandor chortled at the nickname, and saw him mouth the words _little cat_ to Sansa, who smiled and nodded in approval. Arya turned back to Gendry, his unease at the revelations of his own birth forgotten in this moment. He watched her cradling the child and smiled at her warmly. His blue eyes hid nothing, she knew he was picturing her holding a child of their own, a child that would never know the shame of growing up with no last name. _He will be a wonderful father._ She thought, deciding that perhaps they wouldn't wait too long after all.

'It's my turn now, I want to hold her.' Rickon demanded.

'She's not a pet!' Sandor interjected. 'You can't just keep passing her about.'

'Oh, she doesn't seem to mind it.' Sansa said. 'Besides, I know it's your fingers that are itching to hold her the most, and you've had your turn. Rickon, you'll get yours soon, I promise, but I think your good-brother would like to hold her next.' All eyes were on Gendry, but he just stood there making no move to take the infant. It soon became apparent to Arya, by the questioning look on his face, that he had no idea that Sansa meant him.

'Gendry.' Arya whispered, presenting the now sleeping babe. His mouth made a silent _Oh,_ and he scanned the faces in the room for approval before ever so gently scooping the babe from Arya's hands and cradling her in his arms. Arya leaned over her and brushed her forehead with a finger. 'Little cat, this is your uncle Gendry.' She spoke the last few words looking up at her husband, wanting to see his reaction and was not disappointed. His brow lifted and his brilliant blue eyes shone with elation as his smiling lips mouthed the word _uncle_. She knew his heart like her own. That title, and all the others he now had; husband, good-brother, cousin - meant more to him than being called a lord or even a king. That one word made it clear for him in an instant, not only was Arya his wife, but her family was his now also.


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

His chamber was poorly lit. The candles sparse and burning low as were the flames in the fireplace. Petyr decided against slipping off his coat just yet, since the open doors to his balcony had allowed all warmth to escape entirely. _Useless girl._ He thought, crossing the room to close the doors that the chamber maid had left open. If he'd still been in King's Landing, he'd have her sent to one of his pleasure houses, where she would be of more use.

The idea gave him pause, it had been a long time since he'd had a bedwarmer. If her hair were red or even brown, he might have considered it, but as it was, she had hair the colour of straw and her short, plump body would not lend itself to his fantasies.

He stoked the fire, willing the flames to grow and leach the cold from his bones. He hated the place. The land was cruel and bare, no trees to protect his tower from the onslaught of icy winds that blew in off the Narrow and Shivering Seas. Nothing but stones underfoot, the seat of House Baelish was cold, damp and utterly miserable.

Rubbing his aching hands together, he spotted a carafe of red wine and a glass on his table. Perhaps the maid was not completely incompetent after all. He poured himself a glass, desperately longing for the taste of Arbor Gold instead of this cheap red he'd been reduced to. What it lacked in quality and taste, it made up for in strength, and he downed the first mouthful for the sake of warming his belly and dulling his senses.

No sooner had it passed his gullet, when he felt his throat begin to tighten. He tore at the collar on his coat and flailed from his chair, knocking it sideways. Desperate for air, Petyr gulped feebly like a fish on the shore, and dropped to his knees. Even before the blood started to trickle from his nostrils, eyes and ears, he knew his fate. With both hands tearing at his throat he fell sidelong onto the floor. The inescapable strangling pain denied his tortured lungs the air they so sorely needed. And as the edges of his vision grew dark, a pair of boots stepped from the shadows and an unseen hand dropped a familiar pouch to the floor in front of him. Coins bounced and scattered, littering the floor. Petyr would have given them all for one last breath. The balcony doors opened and the man stepped through them, his words carried in on the bitter wind as everything went black.

'Valar Morghulis.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read my little fic, and especially to those who gave kudos or commented. Watching those numbers grow on my dash has been awesome, and getting notifications that some lovely reader has left me a comment always brings a smile to my face.
> 
> Thanks also for not being too harsh, this has been my first attempt at writing anything, and you have all given me the confidence to keep writing. If the next fic sucks, you can all blame yourselves for encouraging me!


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